Offer Me That Deathless Death

In which the dream team meet their destinies

Ken

STEarly March, 2027
Brisk but warming coastal air lingers on the skin and in the lungs even as they are hit by warmer salt with the heavy scent of rain seeping into the earth and the treated sea huts and walkways. As ever the ocean sighs and occasionally crashes against itself—although perhaps at a different pitch, or cadence, or even some entirely different, forgotten language.
More present than these scents and sounds, though, are those of cooking: the popping of oil, the hissing of frying pancakes, the sweet smell of warmed honey and agave syrup and hot chocolate with hints the bite of cayenne pepper.
The doors to Casa Cruz are shut and the merry rain taps its playful rhythm on the roof and against the windowsills. But sunrays still shine through, painting brighter the inside of the colorful house.
“… still haven’t gotten any closer to that.” The voice is distinctly Alejandra’s, albeit carrying with it the subtle song of stars, drifting through the halls. “So we gonna keep waiting?”
Xelhua stands, slouching and bending his neck so as not to send his head through the roof, two babies harnessed securely to his broad front.
“Just in time,” Ramon says, flipping a pancake. “I’m almost done here.” He motions to the baby seats. “Make yourselves at home.” Then he motions to a bench—the broadest bench they could find, in fact, at the table, and another chair waiting in the corner.

Ken
Ken perches on the back of the chair, but only after wiping the remaining sand off his boots. “Good morning, Ramon. Ah, that smells wonderful.” He leans to one side so as to see past Xelhua into the kitchen. Then he glances around the rest of the room and halls. “No Eloisa this morning?”

ST
“Sleeping in,” Ramon explains. “She did so well at her midnight vigil, I figured she earned a rest.”
“Maybe the answer will come after we meet,” suggests Alejandra, sounding much more present and not being thrown over some great gulf.
Xelhua proceeds to unstrap the first child, with great care and deliberation. “Midnight vigil duties are in addition to a usual day. That is their importance, and their lesson. Otherwise meaning is lost.”
“And if it doesn’t?” asks the distant-sounding Alejandra.
Ramon glances over his shoulder at Xelhua and looks down, a little chastened. “Yeah… but positive reinforcement, right?”
“Then we go with Plan B.”
Xelhua continues divesting himself of his sons. The other babies across the table follow him with wide eyes. “’Ola Xelhua,” says the older one, politely. “’Ola Tono.”
“Plan B ain’t exactly…”
“… ideal, I know.”
“Hola, Leon,” responds Xelhua. Tonio looks down at the table and offers a shy little wave. “Ramon, she wishes to learn the value of sacrifice. Without the hardship, her learning will be fractured. Incomplete. And her choice will lose its meaning too.”

Ken
Ken slips from his perch silently and almost invisibly, heading down the hall towards the courtyard… family disagreements could be uncomfortable enough even when you didn’t have strange guests hanging around, after all. He takes his time as he meanders through the house, taking in the morning birdsong and the smells of sea and pancakes.

ST
“Yeah. I guess…” Ramon replies. “It’s just… scary, y’know? She could get hurt or sick or somethin’.”
If there is a response, it’s a wordless one.
“I don’t want to put Xel under that kind of pressure if I don’t have to,” says the star-speaking Alejandra. “I mean, I can’t imagine I’ll… we’ll… ugh, whatever… wil be able to help him much.”
The more-present Alejandra sighs. “What, you wanna keep waiting?”
“Okay.” Ramon sighs. “I’ll wake her up.” This is followed by the shifting of a pancake off a griddle and the switching off of a stove.
“No. I fuckin’ want Los Angeles and Baltimore to be, like—”
“Yeah. I know.”
“Well get your girl Linda on that shit, then!”
“Look, Linda’s pretty amazing, but fusing cities together ain’t exactly her thing.”
“Yeah. I doubt it’s anyone’s thing.” The distant Alejandra growls. “But she’s got the answers, right?”
“If she got all the answers—”
“—we wouldn’t be here arguing. I know. Fuck.”

Ken
Ken slows to a halt. Taking a few steps backwards, he peers through the doorway and softly clears his throat. “I am sorry to butt in, but is it the cities you’re concerned with, or just the people in them?”

ST
As Alejandra looks up, so too do the small starlike motes of light swirl, shifting the wildcat shape to regard Ken. Then Alejandra and the star ocelot glance at each other briefly.
“I mean, the people are the most important thing,” replies the human-shaped Alejandra.
“But it ain’t that simple. There’s a lot of history in these places. A lot of living, dying, work, play… shit, there are loads of kids who haven’t known anywhere else. It’d be a hell of a thing if every one of my folks had to learn how to live in Los Angeles, or vice versa.”
Alejandra sighs. “That’s how it goes, though.”
The star ocelot’s ears turn back. “Yeah, well. Forgive me for wanting something impossible.”
Alejandra holds her hands out, palms down, in a pacifying manner. “Yeah, yeah. I want it too.”

Ken
After a few minutes silently thinking it over, Ken says, “Well now, I wouldn’t say impossible. Distance is just an illusory concept anyways, eh?”

ST
Once more the two Alejandras regard Ken, this time with equal incredulity.
“The fuck?” answers one as the other answers, “I wish.”

Ken
Given that he’s firmly part of the conversation now, Ken enters the room and takes a seat on a relatively empty shelf. “Sure. ‘Here’ and ‘there’ are all in how you look at things, you know.” He motions with one hand to indicate the locations. “That is why I can be here and be in Baltimore at the same time. It is just a matter of getting everyone else to be here and in Baltimore at the same time, but people are usually good about these things if you introduce them the right way.”

ST
Again the human Alejandra and the ocelot-shaped Alejandra exchange a look. Then the human one looks back, crossing her arms. “Wait. If you’re here and in Baltimore at the same time, wouldn’t that just be… more like… two copies of you?”
The ocelot sits. “That still makes the distance the same… um… distance.”

Ken
Ken shakes his head firmly. He drums fingers on planks and looks up at the cieling while searching for the words to explain. “There is no such thing as distance except because we believe it to be so. Places, the way you are thinking of them, they are made up of the memories and expectations about the place.” He stops, decides explaining that way may not work, and changes tracks.
“I only have one soul, ja?” Ken looks between the two of them for agreement. “So if my soul is in Baltimore and Los Angeles at the same time, well, then they must be the same place. Yes?”

ST
His answer is met by a little bemused laughter, mixed with a dash of helplessness.
“Okay. I’ll buy it,” says the ocelot-shaped Alejandra. “I’ve seen him do some weird shit.”
The human-shaped Alejandra uncrosses her arms. “Alright. Clearly you know what you’re talking about better than we do. How, then, can we get everone else onboard with… um… your quantum physics… thing?”

Ken
Ken shrugs. “Ask them nicely?”
“I can show them the way, if they want to follow.” He offers. “I have done it before.”

ST
“What, successfully?” asks the human-shaped Alejandra. But her clear humor fades in favor of intentness. “How safe is this?”

Ken
“No one died… that counts as safe, ja?” Ken teases. His tone is more serious when he continues. “The last time I tried something close to this it worked. But it did take help from some godlings and it also took a lot out of all of us who were making it work. That was a while ago and I have gotten better at it since.” He scratches his chin and the lines on his face deepen with thought. “No, no. I don’t think it would be a problem at all.”

ST
“So… when you’re talking two places being in the same place…” The human-shaped Alejandra presses her eyes shut and runs a hand through her hair as she concentrates on finding words that would work. “Will our people get to keep their homes? Their jobs? Their lives? What will the… um… ecology be like?”
“What kind of scale of lifestyle change we talking here?” the ocelot-shaped Alejandra clarifies.

Ken
Ken shrugs again with his hands spread out, palms-up. “Their lives, I am certian. The rest, I do not know.” His eyes move back and forth between the two, slowly, finally settling on Star-cat-Alejandra. “Perhaps it is easiest to think of it like a dream. Your two cities, and you with them, have been dreaming separate lives for many years. I can help your dreams come together into one, but I cannot choose what that new dream will be because I am not the dreamer.”

ST
“Might be easier if we… meet first,” suggests the ocelot-shaped Alejandra. “I mean. If we get to keep our memories and experiences and shit once we’re… one.”
“Well.” The human-shaped Alejandra takes in a breath, and then blows it out. “This is gonna take lots of discussion and lots of preparation.” She pins Ken with an intent, golden-eyed look. “You’re really willing to do this?”

Ken
Ken nods. “If you want me to, yes.”

ST
“Well. We’ll have to get back to you on the whole wanting to thing.” Alejandra smiles a bit wryly. “But… thanks. You’re damn generous.”
“Shit, I owe you for giving Xelhua and the boys a ride,” adds the ocelot. “You’re due for more than a thanks.”
“Ken?” calls Ramon. “Breakfast’s ready!”

Ken
Ken smiles, and ducks out of the gratitude (and toward pancakes) with a parting wave.

STMarch 20th, sunset
Weeks have passed. Discussions have been had and had again; preparations have been made and made again. As advised, Yesen has been consulted; and the Alejandras have gotten a taste of their unified dream, and given their people these tastes. Some found it a good taste; some found it palatable; some found it repugnant. All made their choices, and those who chose to left have found ready guides.
And now…
And now the Alejandras have met, borne by guide or door or some combination thereof, not in Los Angeles or in Baltimore but away where any potential harm will fall harmless, in a space somewhere between Bakersfield and Where the Earth Meets the Sky.
In a space where their unified dream can come to life.
In a place where their new city and its people will arrive.
But in between… in Between…

Ken
It’s nice to have more space to work, this time around. Without the press of people and death, opening doors is more like a game than a chore. The bigger the door, the bigger the challenge though, and a door big enough for two whole cities to go through has been proving quite the puzzle. Stars below coalesce into glimmering pools beneath an ocean of darkness. Ken meanders between them, around them, paying no heed to the reflections. Finally: a pair. Matching dreams of matching cities. He kneels between them… sunrise on one side and stars on the other. The surface of the pools are smooth, glassy. Still. Frozen.
They’ll never be able to move that way.
A quick, careless swing of the axe. Tap then tap then spiderweb cracks creep over the surfaces and splinter each image into a kaleidescope of ten thousand pieces. Shattering the whole to free the parts.
They won’t really be free of course. But free enough to choose whether to cross a bridge, if they are given a bridge to cross. So then. Time to make a bridge.
Ken dips his hands into the pools, and breathes, andthe reflections fall away the memories fall away the stars fall away everything falls away and it is nothing and you are nothing and
somewhere there grows a tree
as tall as the sky and as deep as the sea
With boughs full of prayers
and bark etched with vows.
You remember…the sound of autumn leaves and the scent of the moon and the weight of the world on your shoulders and
…it died a lifetime ago
girdled by age and whithered by loss.
The sap can no longer flow from branch to root to branch
The leaves can no longer reach for the sky
and it has grown to heavy for you to lift.
But…waves break over the shore and over your heart and you thought it would never end but it has and you thought it would be forever but
The scar is familiar under your hand
The shape of it, the size
Last time you filled it with a soul. But that didn’t work, did it? Not for long at least, not after it broke free and the world came crashing back down on you. But then again… that soul was shaped for an oak, and this is no oak.
But the shape is so familiar.
A soul. Yes.
The right soul.
Whittled and worn down into a perfect fit. You pluck it from the heart that has kept it safe for so many years and graft it gently into place. And…like a river like lightning the deeps touch the heavens and life fills the branches and
And all the pieces come back together.

STand all the pieces come back together
And the ways open, unfolding from the soles of his boots like an infinite amount of roots and branches spreading, reaching far, farther than sight can see and hearing can hear and sense can feel.
But, for all that, there are no doors. No locks.
What there is… is freedom.
There is aliveness beneath his feet. Ways like roots and branches withering and curling to nothing; ways like roots and branches blooming and unfurling. Some weave with each other, some run parallel, some move apart, some meet once.
And beckoning breezes from some, tugging, flicking gently this way and that, inviting him, teasing him, asking him.
And insistence gusts from others sharp and powerful blasts. Urgency fuels their passing, or imperiousness, or sheer matters of fact.
Even so, some of those ways fade before a step can be taken on them.
But one stays, a large, gnarled, strong one etched deep with more paths upon paths, forming patterns over themselves. It reeks and tastes and weighs heavily of importance.

Ken
Ken takes a moment (or forever?) to feel the lives and the paths all the way down to the deepest root, all the way up to the tallest twig. They flicker and fade and emerge. But one stands tall and forbidding and silent like a stone among waves. He leans toward it…
Wait. There is a job to be done.
Ken reaches out clumsily, half-blinded by so much freedom. There. He brushes up against a path that sings with two voices and beats with two hearts. Sings, yes… but not for him.But the other way…
Ken pulls his hands from the water and takes the first step.

Morevuka

DovileMarch 20th, 2027 Before Sun-RiseThe Twisted Aspen
They are in the shaded bower. The moon is glittering through the woven walls and ceiling, catching on the pale flowers. Some glow, white as the moon herself. Some are only turned darker by the light, the soft shadow of the gentle light.
Dovile is pouring tea.
Her siblings are sitting around the carved milk-crate that is currently surving for a table in this part of the tree house. There are fresh baked muffins on a chipped porcelen plate.
The mood is somber. Sahsa’s dream was short, vivd, and compelling. He’d left them all with the taste of fate in their mouths. Dovile’s trip to the Moist Earth had left her with the same feeling. A path to follow, although to what she wasn’t sure.
To find something, resounding with images of the World Tree, and the feeling of fresh tilled soil.
Dovile puts the pot on the table, next to the muffins, and curls her fingers around her tea cup. Her rifle is on her lap.

ST
Yesen stares into her cup, gently held between fingers that were just beginning to venture out to find what will be their shape. The steam drifts up past her face before being whipped around by the gentle, playful flickings of breeze at her now jaw-length hair. Wordlessly she takes Sasha’s dream in one hand and Dovile’s communion in the other, almost as if they were reins, and carefully flicks them, listening, feeling how far down they go before disappearing.
It’s very far. Farther, and deeper, than Yesen has yet been. She waits, to see if anything sings back to her.
Sasha is similarly quiet, elbow on one knee and fist against his temple, his eyes on the horizon. A low background warm vibrato comes across: quiet, gentle, groundless fuss, unintrusive and undistracting but still present and lingering.
Mokosits grabs a muffin unceremoniously and stuffs a good half of it into his mouth, crumbs falling into his hand as he makes a half-effort at cleanliness. -You know, tasks with Prince Ivan were never like this. I always had to do all the work.- He takes a large mouthful of tea. -Sure, the Sudice always have their fingers on us nowadays, but all I have to do is come along, drink tea, eat muffins, and offer occasional witty and incisive commentary.- He looks up, one eyebrow raised. -You are all, hands down, the best.-

Dovile
-We have been training very hard.- Dovile’s thought is almost a hum. Soon they’ll be going. Soon she’ll be focused. But right now there is tea, and muffins. She’s prepared as best she can. Carmen knows they’re going. There were no stray threads, tying them to someone who shouldn’t come. -We will be the winning team in the Best Olympics.-

ST
-Wait… the Best Olympics? As in to determine those who are The Best?- Mokosits stuffs the other half of the muffin in his mouth. -I thought that was what the Olympics was supposed to be in the first place.-
-No, it’s the best of all the Olympics, Mokukas.- Sasha looks at him sidelong, smiling a little. Then he takes up his tea with one hand and a muffin with another.
Mokosits considers, his thoughts flicking down a dozen ways at once. -If that’s so, where would it be hosted? And if there’s one event to determine who’s the best overall, what other events would there be?- A pause. -Do they test for performance-enhancing drugs?-

Dovile
-Wait, I thought it was an event in the Olympics? The Best Event? Like the skiing and shooting one, only for being the best?- Dovile thinks for a moment, pondering Mokosits’ great questions.
-Does tobacco count? Because if so, we may be in trouble.-

ST
Mokosits shrugs. -I don’t know. I’m not on the committee.- Another brush of consideration like the flick of a wolf’s ear. -But if so, I’ll just bribe them for you. My half-brother owns all the gold in the world, you see, and is especially prone to the puppy-dog eyes.-
After a long moment of silence in response to her testing of waters, Yesen breaks her trance and sips her tea and takes her own muffin.
-Have you no faith in us?- Sasha asks, mock hurt.
Mokosits points at him to punctuate his response. -No, see, I am just bribing them to fudge the drug test, not to fix the competition. I have nothing but faith in you guys. I cannot say the same for the system.-

Dovile
-I think you should bribe the judges also. I am sure we are the best, but they had better be sure too.- She takes a long drink of tea.

ST
-Hm. I’m not sure… Lord Kovlad is not that prone to puppy-dog eyes. Especially when Lady Runa is around to glare at me.-
-threaten them instead, mokukas.- Yesen’s suggestion breezes by. -less of a paper trail that way.-
Mokosits snaps his fingers. -Ah! Clever, as always, Yesushka.-
-I’m not comfortable with this whole breaking down people’s lives with paranoia thing.- Sasha gives a look to everyone that’s too earnest to be genuine. -What about the committee’s families? One of them is a newlywed. Another has a bun in the oven. And a third has been working hard to overcome her post-traumatic stress from previous violent encounters in her childhood.- He pauses. -Not to mention all the other athletes who have been working just as hard and training their entire lives.-

Dovile
-Dangit Sasha!- Dovile says. -We were going to be the best! Why do you always have to be so nice?-

ST
-You’re always ruining our great plans with your compassion!- Mokosits adds.
Sasha has the grace to seem sheepish.
Yesen considers. -maybe we could bribe them to have a niceness event.-

Dovile
-Oh, he would win that.- Dovile says. -And if it looks like a clsoe thing, we will join the other teams.-

ST
And then, there’s an answering shake on the “reins.” It’s a languid rolling, settling to silence. But somehow it evokes strong images, deep impressions: eyes through which another can see, a heart in a case, a beautiful golden bird waking only when bid. The impressions begin to shift, digging deeper through memory with unnerving surety… but they quickly fade, lacking the conviction to continue.
It is an alien feeling. And yet there is something deeply familiar about it.

Dovile
There had never been the youthful haze of fairytale about it, so for a moment it doesn’t click.
But then it comes, with the intense, joyful retellings that Sasha had given, years and years and years ago in a quiet coffee shop, a few weeks after mamuja’s funeral.
And with it, the memory of Tsar Afon’s shadowed face.The Thrice-Nine Lands. Not even a thought. Just a knowledge. Just the sweet, heady odor of its earth.
But there is something coming out of the memory of Afon. Not roots, but something like them. Chains, leading into a powerful, urgent need, a restless, pounding energy.
Dovile’s fingers twitch, almost on their own. She stops them, before they start carving the muffin into shapes.

ST
Fear flickers in, an old fear, stale-tasting but still so powerful even after all this time. In her first troubled breaths Yesen reaches for the shadows, but the moment she brushes them she pulls away. It was reassurance she sought from them, not solace. She cups the fluttering fear between her palms, gentle, holding it close to her heart.
-Ah…- Mokosits lets his apprehension rest before seizing it and remolding it slightly with his words. -Then again… nothing like this had ever happened to Prince Ivan.-
-Yesute…- Sasha prompts gently. -We can wait for you to finish your muffin and tea first.-
Her mouth is too coated in the stale-tasting fear, her stomach too filled with tempestuous dread. -no thanks, sashukas…-
-Well!- At this Mokosits quickly crams a muffin in his mouth and drains the rest of his tea, only with practice managing to not make this go horribly wrong. Then he brushes his hands a bit and wipes the crumbs and tea from his mustache. -I’m ready whenever you are.-

Dovile
Dovile shakes her head in general reaction. Of course it was this, right? Always the past came back.
She put her muffin down, picked up the uneaten ones, and shoved them in her pockets. Just in case they got to count as ‘in her pockets’ in the dream world.
She focused on the taste of muffin and tea, in case Yesen wanted them. The shadows are there for Yesen, and Yesen could use them. But it was nice not to have to taste the fear.

ST
For a moment, the taste pushes through. The fear settles a little in its thrashing. Gratitude brushes by, unhurried but fleeting.
And then…
In… in…
out…
Down the reins they go, writ large now, having become more like paths for feet to tread than handholds, but pushing down ever deeper like roots. Yesen’s light shines along the way, pushing through the enfolding dark and revealing things flicking in at the edges—dreams, impressions and images unrelated to them, what they seek.

Dovile
Dovile follows, as easily as breathing. Two feet flicker into four, and the light passes through them. A wolf made of shadow, or a woman made of wood. Either way…

ST
And then, the way darkens; the path steepens. Equal parts sliding and running, past the dreams of those forever sleeping, past the memories that go back farther than the memories of those who are yet alive.
Then the path rolls again, like some great earthquake.
Raw.
That was perhaps the most apt description of what had just passed.
A powerful craving to mold, to knead, to crush something beneath the hands, over and over, hotter and hotter, to tug and to hammer and to shape and to etch. The emptiness aches for metal, bone, clay, wood, flesh between the hands, all individually, all at once.
It was a feeling so raw, so powerful, that it went by unnoticed until everything else started returning in bits and pieces from where it had been scattered.
Though all is dark around them, there is a chasm right before their feet into which the path drops. Yesen’s light does little to reveal its width and breadth beyond “measureless”. How they got there is unclear—indeed, wits are still returning like the uneasy gathering of feet underneath a toddler who has fallen.

Dovile
The ‘Oh shit’ goes unspoken. Dovile stands guard, although against what could never be clear.
Her eyes cannot peirce the darkness. It’s the wrong kind of darkness.

ST
Yesen’s quickening breath echoes out over the precipice. The fear has grown now, seizing like desperate talons.
Mokosits is the first to act, moving to the very edge of the precipice and setting his haunches down, guardian and gatekeeper, watcher and warden.
Sasha holds out his hand to Yesen’s. She takes it, accepting the gift of warmth through the ever-turning wheel. But still her heart and breath are held as if hostage.

Dovile
Dovile slides over. Her eys remain at the edges, but with the shadow all around, it’s easy to press up against Yesen too. To put a warm head under hand, to draw the comforting shadows around them all like a familiar blanket.
Familiar shadows, filled with familiar things. Sasha’s laughter, the smell of sauteing onions in Mokosh’s kitchen. Mokosits’ deep, bounding laughter. The taste of cigarrette smoke, and the way the sunlight plays through the flowers.
And space to be sad. And time to be sad in.

ST
Though the comforts are small in the face of the chasm… little by little her breath and pulse release. Once more Yesen can draw the threads around them.
Before she steps into the void, love radiates, small and intimate but sustaining, like heated rocks in a sauna.

ST
Darkness closes around them, endless like the cosmos, yet enclosed like an egg. It is hollow, vast and empty; it is full, packed so tight that it doesn’t feel as if the newcomers can move.
And then something unfurls over them. Like a yawn, like an unfolding stretch.
Something flickers like blinking stars.
Something beholds them.
All sides; one side. Everywhere; from a finite number of points. Eighteen. Infinity.
Then something… speaks.

ST
I see you.

ST
It is not speaking. There are no words involved, no thoughts, no images. It can only be intention—although it is not that either. It is as if the newcomers are each speaking to themselves, with their own voice, with many voices, and yet utterly voiceless. With it come the surprise of unfamiliarity; the deep calm of utter knowing; the uneasy surety of having glimpsed this through a dream.
It doesn’t quite come from within. But it’s not apart, either. It’s like a third leg: a part of being which had always been there, yet something alien as if it hadn’t been there until now.

Dovile
Dovile reaches for her siblings, like a heart beating. Reaches for the darkness.
She can find neither.
She is filled with both.
Faced with empty infinity—
Faced with a closeness so full—
Dovile kneels, and bows her head.

ST
Like an egg. The sunrise at dawn. The fullness, the emptiness. Sasha spreads himself out as if inviting an embrace from the sky itself. As he used to every morning.

ST
Good morning!

ST
For a moment, the initial feeling settles over them a new, like a pause in conversation.

ST
It is good.

ST
Another pause. Through the gaping emptiness of awe, through the fullness of reverence, an impulse comes across from Mokosits, budding and flourishing, random and transient as flowers yet tied to an eons-sustained pattern of seasons.

ST
Yes, well, we thought so.

Dovile
You can’t sass him! He’s LORDFATHERSVAROG!

Dovile
Dovile clings to the thought with tight fingers. But her fingers are nothingness, or fullness, only part of the dream. She is laughing, and trying not to laugh. Revrent, full of awe.

ST
All of it echoes, like the ringing of a hammer-blow. Out, and then in, as if reflected, as if coming from another source, matching yet different.

ST
You are my children.
You are the children of my children’s children.
You are beautiful.
You are incomplete.
You are whole.
You seek something.

ST
The emptiness of dreamless sleep. The fullness of waking up to fading dreams. All coming forth, unhidden but ungiven but already seen all the same, as Yesen responds.

ST
We seek the seed of the World Tree.

ST
Another long pause.

ST
Yes.

ST
It is a confirmation. A giving of permission. An affirmation.

ST
Yes.
I see you.
Yes.
I see you.
Sweeping Day comes.

ST
Borne on that is a gathering, a collecting of all things, from all things, to all things. And then it comes together, pushing, molding, kneading, ever and ever smaller. Patterned yet patternless. And then a shattering, where all things are scattered.

ST
Yes.
Come, my children.
I will give you

ST
The impression, intention, image, is not just the seed. It is that which must exist around the seed, the soil and the food and the light and the water. But it is none of those things. It is the knowledge required for gardening, the patience and intuition and endurance.
And then something unfurls before them, around them, underneath them. Like a yawn. Like a stretch. Like a hand. It beckons and offers all at once.

ST
Yesen approaches—but without any sense of movement. It is an acceptance, an echoing unfurl.

Dovile
Dovile follows, padding on silent paws after her goddess.
Dovile stands, eyes flicking in every direction, seeking out the emptiness.
Too far away to feel.
Too close to touch.
A waiting, an acceptance.

MorevukaWhat are you taking from me?Nothing.Everything.A Memory (A Life):
Woke up, sweating, heart pounding. Eyes wide and breath coming fast.
She closed her eyes for a moment. Slammed them back open, the images of torn bodies and broken faces still bright against her eyelids.
Dovile Mikailovana Petrova sat up and swung her legs out of bed.
The floor was cold. Eyes sought the clock. Six fourteen, already light.
Her eyes dart away. Bedroom door cracked open. Silence on the floor.
Father’s snoring, conspiciously absent.Just one day left.
Deep breath, in, out.
Dovile rose. She dressed.
The fridge was empty, except for a bottle of beer. Two apples, both getting old, sat on the counter. The icebox has three bottles of vodka, all unopened.
Three days ago was market day. Dovile hadn’t gone.
The table is old, scared by ciggarettes and dirt and children’s hands. Dovile finds a table cloth. It’s been under the sink, serving as a just-in-case from several years ago, when Father fixed the plumbing. Its dark grey from the dust.
A few moments, staring at it, shoulders heavy. Dust spirals down, dancing in the small stream of sunlight that finds its way in through dirty windows.
Deep breath. In, out. This is the last one.
Dovile walks to the balcony, opening the door with her wrist. Warm air, and the smell of the sea. She lets go of the sheet and shakes it. A cloud of dust, like a thunderhead. Again, and again.
Eventually it’s white enough.
It goes over the table, covering the burns and knife marks, and the place where, twenty years agao, she’d written her name in sprawling early-grader letters with heavy duty acid.
There’s a vase by her father’s chair. Serving as an ash tray. She empties it, washes it.
But there are no flowers. The last of them died when Mother left.
Dovile closes her eyes. She opens them, dries the vase, puts it on the table.
The shot glasses, at least, are easy to find.
Two, clean and clear. Only two. Father had sold the rest, after the flowers died. They go on the table with soft clunks, muffled by the thick cloth. One on this side, one on the other.
There should be plates. But there is nothing to eat.
Dovile looks at the clock. Eight twenty seven.
Almost time.
She goes back to her room. There’s a cardboard box by her bed. She reaches in, pushing past the cleaning cloths and cotton. The familiar bumps of textured polymer, right where they belonged. Dovile pulled out her pistol.
It should have been the old TT-30 her uncle used. But that pistol was long gone. They’d taken it, with his body. Instead it was her’s, scarred by sand and sun.
For a moment she sat there, ill-fitting dress a neat dark blue against the old sheets, the pistol heavy in her hand. It felt like a weight, holding her to the world.
Dovile cleared the gun, out of habit, and reached down for a magazine, slipped it in—
She stopped, hand resting on the cocking slide.
Duty first.
Only one left, now.
Dovile took a deep breath. In. Out.
She stood up, walked back out to the kitchen.
Laid the pistol on the table, at her seat. With almost surprise she looks down at her hand. The star on the grip, worn nearly smooth, has left an imprint in her palm.
She looks at the clock. Eight fourty. Time to go.
Black coat on.
She locks the door behind her as she leaves.
Her footsteps echo down the stairs.
Almost done now.nintey six steps, down to the street. A walk in the summer warmth, chilled to the bone. A funeral.Only the priest comes.That was a laugh, a priest at the funeral.nintey six steps, up to the door.Almost done now…
A pistol, loaded, on a grey table cloth.What are you taking from me?Everything.Nothing.
Turn the latch over, six times.thunkput down that duty, weighing heavy on exhausted shouldersthunka body, a dream of a body, the last breath slipping out of it like a shadow fleeing the sunthunkthe end of dutythunkthe end of everything knownthunkwithout the burden, the shadows cannot hold togetherthunkThere is light in the kitchen…
…
There is a sensation. As if everything she was, all of the body, the bone, the blood, the breath. And more besides. The shadows, teeth, short and long. The roots, tangled in the deep earth, in the hearts and minds of her other selves.
Torn out.
Balled together.
Melting in the heat of two hands cupped.
Rolled.
Streched.
Formed.
And melted again.What will I become? What will you turn me into?A Memory (A Life):
There is a light in the kitchen…
Dovile’s hand goes for her pistol, but of course, it’s not there. It’s on the table. It hardly matters. They can’t do anything to her now, not anymore. Can’t ask anything of her.
All the duties are done.
Like a weight, lifting from her shoulders.
She shut the door behind her, turning the latch over just once. Dovile took off her boots and slid off her coat. Someone was in the kitchen, making noise such as she hadn’t heard for ages. The banging of pots, the heavy sound of a knife hitting a cutting board.
The heady scent of onions cooking, and the sour-sweet smell of beets boiling.
For a moment, half a moment caught between her heart and her throat, she thought it was her mother. But no, Mother never hummed, not like that.
Dovile walked around the corner of the enterance hall.
There was short woman with brown hair flying everywhere, kinking and curling out from under the headscarf she wore. The kitchen air was thick with steam.
“There you are, little mouse.” The woman said, not even turning. “Sit down, I’ve made something for you.” She was speaking Russian. Clear, clipped. Dovile couldn’t quite place the region. But not from Lithuania.
The table cloth had been changed. It was a pristine white. It had blue flowers embroidered around the edges. The vase was full of color. Flowers, freshly cut, almost spilled out in joyous profusion. The shot glassess were gone.
So was the pistol.
“I’m sorry.” Dovile said. Her voice came out cold and low. “But who are you, and what are you doing in my kitchen?” She answered in Lithuanain. This wasn’t fucking Russia. Not anymore.
The woman turned, a cat sized pan full of browning dumplings in carmalized onions in one hand, and a wooden spoon in the other. “The domovoi’s wife. I am here to help with the funeral feast, jo?” She tapped the wooden spoon on the edge of the pan.
The ring was muffled by her hand on the handle, by the steam in the air, by the mold on the walls.
It wasn’t a pan Dovile had ever seen.
“Sit, sit.” The woman said. “You haven’t eaten all day.”
Dovile sat. The sharp tone walked into her ears and down into her spine where the childhood instincts lived, without consulting her on the way.
A plate, one of hers, brown and chipped, was placed in front of her, full of dumplings. A fork, clean, appeared next to it. “And I am giving you tea. I know, I know, it is not appropriate for dinner. But there will be plenty of drinking later, jo?”
It smelled of onion, and baked flour, and lamb. Lamb!
She was hungry.
Dovile looked up from the food. The woman was standing over her, watching, lips pursed.
“You knew my father?” Dovile asked. She had never seen this woman in her life. But the church had put a notice in the paper about the service.
The woman smiled. A thin, wistful smile. “Yes. I knew him. You should eat. It is going to be a busy night.”
No. No, it wasn’t.
What did she owe him that she hadn’t already given him? One toast, perhaps. Perhaps not even that. And now this woman was here, and filled her kitchen with food and light and demanded that she stay and eat, and drink, and live for him?
No. She didn’t owe him that.
She didn’t owe anyone that.
Not anymore.
Dovile stood back up. “I’m sorry.” She said. “I think there has been a misunderstanding. Where did you put my pistol?”
The pan lowered.
The woman’s brown eyes were soft, like the earth after the ice melted.
“I’m so sorry.” She said, and her voice was soft with sorrow. “I’m so sorry, my little mouse. You aren’t done yet.”
…
Something New
Something OldTHIS
A wolf.snarling teeth snapping after prey pursued over endless mountainsa family close together and each back watched every mouth provided for
A shadow.in the corner of the eye never seen clearly cold behind prickling necka place to hide soft and warm and safe and secret
The earth.inexorable and unchanging a heavy weight over head pressing in all aroundsweet thick smell of rain the high sharp notes of sunfed flowersa hound, a hunter, a place of rest, a keeper of bones, a tender of blooming shadows, an ender of life, trailing posion thorns,MorevukaBE
gasping with a mouth not meant for breathing—the sun is risingthe moon is meltingthe snow is flying
You aren’t done yet.
Dovile opened golden eyes and howled.

ST
Heated, rolled, kneaded, cooled, etched
Something New
Something Old
All at once…
A sun.light inexorably moving across the same path each day after each day like a lawwarmth beckoning forth the bloom, drawing sleepers gently awake
A fire.blazing flame burning corruption emptycrackling hearth, merry and welcoming
A vision.cold, driving certainty of purposewarm, sustaining hope of things to comea hammer, a warm word, the word of law, a bringer of hope, a fist, a helping handDobrozheBE

ST
A wolf.running on the edges the forest, just outside the torchlight, with flashing eyes and white teeth and lolling tonguestaunchly loyal, living and dying and singing and hurting for the pack
An apparition.shadow of an unseen monster snapping at heelswarm dark in endless howling white moving as if saying follow me
A guardian.pacing around the opening, forbidding entry with image and snarl and bitestalking through the trees alongside, around the traveler, ensuring no harma lone wolf, a devoted companion, an outsider, a guide, a lawbreaker, a boundary-walkerMokositsBE

ST
A dream.gentle moonlit mercy, tender solace and bitter, sorrowful yearningcold, mercenary purpose driven by raw, unshakable need that flagellates like raw mountain-peak stormwindsthe time between summer and winter, which is warm and cold, fertile and barren, suffused with true magic and empty hallucinationshe who walks between, she who wanders the spaces around order, she who traverses through lawYesenBE

ST
And then something unfurls before them, around them, underneath them. Like a yawn. Like a stretch. Like a hand. It cools and warms and releases them all at once.

ST
Yes.
I see you.
You are beautiful.

ST
NO!

ST
An agonized howl, ringing off the walls of the egg, spreading to the edges of existence.

ST
NO!

ST
Mokosits, filled with yearning, empty with cavernous pain.

ST
Put me back… please…

ST
Dropping to back, driven to knees, exposing the soft of the belly, exposing the nape of the neck.

ST
I beg you… Lord Father Svarog… please…

ST
A pause, as if of astonishment, as if expectant but space-giving.

ST
And then, laid bare, a mother’s grief. Memories upon memories, emotions upon emotions.
And then, laid bare, a creator’s frustration. Images upon images, predictions upon predictions.
A walking embodiment, a constant reminder of powerlessness.
Mokosits exposed like a sudden revelation; Mokosits as he always was from the very beginning.

ST
… I see you.
Come, my child.
I will give you

ST
What was done cannot be undone. What was undone will be done again. But it is a an apparition, an empty eggshell blown of its yolk. It will hold him; it will break.

ST
Please.

ST
Something unfurls before them, around them, underneath them. Like a yawn. Like a stretch. Like a hand. The shell waits to be claimed; the shell closes Mokosits away.

ST
And then the Twisted Aspen returns.
The moist, dark earth is open and close, everywhere and nowhere. Silent but full, of offerings, of answers. Waiting.
The shadows of the freshly bloomed flowers call with their gentle, cultivated voices; a new song, a familiar song.
They sing to regroup. The sky is split.
The shadows of the aged, deep roots call with their strong, resonant voices; an ancient song, a familiar song.
They sing to hunt. The sky is split.

Morevuka
Morevuka reaches out for the pack, and they run.
The sky is split.
They are needed.

Star-Bringer

STMarch 20th, early evening
White steam drifts upwards from hot spiced cider in large, ceramic tankards. Designs of wolves, snakes, and corpses line the bottom, half-carved and half-stained. The air outside is brisk with the slight sharp bite of dry cold. Above, the sun is a wan, pale thing, veiled by sickly-looking clouds. Snowflakes drift idly down.
The porch smells still of fresh-cut wood and of friction-burned sap. The functional, hastily-carved chairs sit safely underneath an overhang, beside the table upon which some of the tankards rest.
Sigyn is in one of these chairs, staring out at the landscape, hair braided back and fur-lined boots crossed modestly, cheeks and nose nipped red by the cold. A tankard rests in her lap, fingers curled gently around it to savor the warmth. Before her the land is piled white, and slopes down a little steeply in places. But a view waits beyond: a deep valley of beautiful, fresh greenery, filled with flowers and littered with wooden longhouses; an icy bay filled with ships unmoving as if frozen in place; and beyond, a thick forest of evergreens, all deep colors and shadows.
Another chair—and the other tankard—is Sanura’s. The third and fourth stand empty.
Behind the cabin is the steady thunking rhythm of an ax meeting a block of wood. There hadn’t been much other sound, aside from the animal-noises that suffuse this place, and the crunching of various boots in snow at various cadences.
This is the first time Loki has not been around for Sanura’s visit. It’s incredibly peaceful this way, lacking a tension that was not readily evident until there was a basis for comparison.

Sanura
Sanura takes a slow breath and allows herself a few moments to simply enjoy the peace, the setting, the quiet company. She lifts the mug to her face and allows the warm scented steam to wash up over her lips to tantilize. A sip savored before she mimics the other womans pose and finds it quit comfortable. Lips turned in a quiet smile she decides for once to follow an example set by a few people she knew and offer Sigyn space to speak, should she wish.

ST
For a long time Sigyn does not take the space, content to remain quiet save the occasional soft sipping of cider.
But eventually patience—and silence—pays off.
“Loki says you’re hiding something under your heart around us,” Sigyn says, quietly. “He is suspicious.” She leaves the statement open-ended, allowing Sanura an opportunity to seize courage on her own terms in meeting the indirect challenge.
Nearby, a small, dark-haired boy—Vali—hops into view, a stick bigger than him and a thumb’s-width thick wielded in his hands like a mighty weapon against some unseen foe.

Sanura
Sanura had fallen into an almost meditative state thanks to the whorls and curls of steam. She looks up and her brows arch a little bit. “I hmm well I may have more reasons that just your company, but no wish to harm you and yours. I hope that’s obvious to you in our short acquaintance.” she catches sight of Vali playing at warrior and cannot stop from smiling at the child’s ‘bravery’ and zest in the battle. “What do you think of it?” she questions softly. She often asked for Sigyn’s thoughts and opinions and now waited to hear it before proceeding further in her own response.

ST
Behind the house, the ax-chopping stops, in favor of wood clunking together. Then there’s a grunt of effort, and boots begin crunching in the snow. To the side, Vali swings his weapon against a rock, shattering the frail branch to pieces. He stares at what’s left in his hands, then looks at the rock contemplatively.
Meanwhile, Sigyn is silent again, expression inscrutable, eyes continuing to sweep over the landscape. Then she says, “I know what mischievous intent looks like. It was clear to me from the beginning that you have none.” It is then that she turns to Sanura, blue glacier-ice eyes regarding her tiredly, punctuated by the gentle but wearied lines etched in her face. “But I am exhausted by hidden agendas. If it’s my trust you seek, I would know why you seek it—in your words, not mine.”

Sanura
Sanura smiles a little more broadly when Vali examines his foe again. When Sigyn once more speaks she gives a more wry turn of lips and allows silently that the goddess surely must know mischief as she was wed to one of it’s most well known deity. Sanura pauses a moment and hopes she won’t come off as offensive. “Well.. as you’ve asked.. I have a belief that the newly arrived deity have a golden opportunity in this tragic circumstance. Years and decades and more have passed and made a certain.. Stagnation and brittleness to your personas and selves. You’ve all been blessed with great power but with it you’ve been cast in stone. Not allowed to change or grow as individuals. Now.. with perhaps a little less power you perhaps are being given a chance to remake yourselves, just a little bit. To grow into even better versions of yourselves. I’d love to see that start with you lady. I’m not a scholar of your myths specifically but what I’ve read of you is very admirable, and yet could be even more so now, if you wish to push at the fabric of belief that has wound around you.” She pauses before saying "Please don’t take offense to the idea I don’t mean any disrespect.

ST
As Sanura speaks, Narvi, a fellow with reddish blond hair, a combination of boyish lankiness and mannishly-large hands and boots, rounds the house bearing a cord of fresh-chopped wood. As he rounds the corner, Vali stops, eyes tracking him, then crouches in the snow, seeming almost to disappear entirely.
Sigyn regards Sanura longer, unflinching and unreadable.
Narvi comes into view, headed for the porch. And then snow explodes on the back of his head, causing him to yelp and drop some of the wood.
At this, Sigyn looks to Narvi.
Narvi whirls and is greeted by a raucous whoop of laughter which echoes down the mountain. Vali flees. Narvi turns again, grinning the grin of playful vengeance, sets what’s left of the dry wood on the porch, nods to his mother and Sanura, and then turns and chases after his brother.
It doesn’t take long for the older to overcome the younger. They go down together in a spray of snow and tangle of fur-clad limbs. Narvi lets out a triumphant cry as he pins his wriggling brother, and buries his face in Vali’s stomach, making exaggerated eating noises to high-pitched screaming laughter.
Sigyn watches this entire scene. Tension grows, like the building of pressure in the earth, the quiet waiting of an earthquake. When she speaks, it is quiet, but bears the weight of the world. “I am not my… myths. And Ragnarok is greater than mere belief.” She looks at Sanura again, her eyes utterly hard now. “If you wish so much for me to act against my Fate, against the Fate of those around me, then help me.” She motions to her boys, wrestling in the snow. “Help them.” Sigyn brings her hand down, looking steadily at Sanura. “I have heard that you made your betrothed able to pass among the people of Midgard unremarked, unobserved, and unmolested. Do that for me, for them, right now, so I can hide them even from the eyes of Heimdall himself. So that Ragnarok won’t be able to claim them.”

Sanura
Sanura watches the children play and her nerves give way to the joy of the children. She turns her gaze back to Sigyn when she speaks and the tension gives her a bad feeling to say the least, the words that follow do nothing to assauge her worry and discomfort. Sanura listens to the demand.. and gives it at least some thought. “I.. created the item.. but it’s full function was not my own doing.. I had the help of several others.” she pauses “It is .. useful for diminishing your affect on mortals but it does not erase your godhood or hide one from fate or gods, I think if you ask Heimdal to find Derrick he can do so at any time, as ever. I don’t think I am capable of what you ask Lady, I am sorry” Sanura allows that to sink in. “I cannot offer you the fast and immediate solution you would have.. but do you not think that … if you all are not merely your legends .. then your fate while strong is at the moment not an immutable one?”

ST
“Being someone who exists independent of ‘legends’ and being bound in destiny are two different things. Legends do not close over my throat; Fate does. And it is doing so quickly.” Sigyn responds. “Perhaps you cannot hide me from Heimdall’s gaze. This I can accept. But you can make us unremarkable, make it so that Heimdall’s eyes will pass over my boys, over me as they do over the millions of short lives beyond.” She looks back to her boys. “The ‘fast and immediate’ solution is all I have, Bastetdotr. Loki will return soon and then my chance may never come again.” Her brows press and she turns to Sanura. “Help or no help, you know how it is done now, better than anyone else. I am not asking for… for an artifact. All I ask for is one hour disguised thus, in Baker’s Field.” She swallows, eyes hard and desperation coming through. “Please.”

Sanura
Sanuras lips purse slightly as she considers what’s being said. Her gaze moving to the side as her thoughts take a bend towards things not yet realized in relation to things that have been done. She frowns faintly and tilts her head to one side. “I am not unwilling to aid, but I cannot fathom how only an hour would see you any good done..” she looks down at the cooling drink in her hands " and I have to confess to a certain .. trepidation in the idea of your husbands wrath .. " her jaw sets after she admits that “Still.. I would risk it if you can explain how it will help.. and if it can indeed be managed of course.”

ST
Sigyn’s shoulders drop a little. She considers how to choose her words, knowing well the ears that could hear them. “I have learned much from my husband. I know of many places I can hide them; where they will be safe. An hour to get them there is all I require.” She turns to look at her sons again. “You do not know my husband. It is not his wrath I fear. He will not be wrathful toward me—he may even be relieved. What I fear is his loyalty.” She takes in a sharp breath. “He is sworn to Odin. They are brothers, bound by blood. When the Aesir ask him where our boys are, he will be honor-bound to answer directly and truthfully. And answer directly and truthfully he will.” Her mouth goes flat briefly. “I trust only myself to keep silence.” Then she turns to Sanura again. “You know better than I whether or not it can be managed. But greater fortunes have happened for lesser causes.”

Sanura
Sanura nods her head slightly to that "I understand.. " she falls silent as she tries to imagine how to do this thing. It was.. no easy task but.. nothing was impossible after all. She rubs her lower lip and considers the way they’d made the dimmer.. putting what they wished hidden away into another space. It wasn’t as if she could get Ken at a moment’s notice but.. She herself did have a .. space of sort that she was able to create. She knew the ways of appearing less noticeable, of not drawing attention by drawing her light inside, at least a little and for a short time. She pauses a moment and touches her brow softly, and then gestures to Sygins own, asking for permission to make a silent connection. If granted she does so and explains her idea of using her shield almost like a thin cloth to let them pass through, but keep what is needed to hide them with her. She would try to work that energy into .. images of them, and take them to the outskirts of the city, in the ruse of showing them a star show. She’d give them as much time as she’s able. As a new .. feat.. she cannot be sure of it’s result or effectiveness.. But she is willing to try.

ST
At the link, Sigyn listens but does not offer input, having utterly accepted and given herself and her boys unto Sanura’s expertise. Once Sanura expresses a willingness to try, Sigyn merely squares herself to do her part.

Sanura
Sanura considers -I think it best if we go out to the town, for real.. I’ll sheild you before we go, and in the midst of the ‘show’ you can slip away. I’ll try to weave the energy to show you as still with me.. and amp up the stars movements to draw more attention skyward.. - Sanura then nods a little to herself finding this idea acceptable considering the short time given and her own set of tallents. She’d rise and gesture to the children. Going to ready herself while Sigyn gathers her small family for the .. adventure.

Star-Bringer
Sanura touches the ring on her finger, gift from her mother, she was a guardian and Sanura felt the influence of her watchfulness, her protective instinct. Her own desires to see those who face danger given the aid they need to be safe and well moving to the fore, pushing away lingering fears of retribution and in their place leaving the warm glow of caring nebulous and beautiful.The strength of one able to protect those in need is a solid core, a mass of light inside her that that burns and glimmers but does not extinguish. She closes her eyes a moment and then when they open they lift towards the heavens. Her khol accented lids flicking slightly as she looks from place to place.. Star to star, beseeching their aid in her endeavor, the strength of her ancestors to come to the fore and bring good fortune with them. She gives a reassuring smile to the children and their mother. Explaining aloud that she means to cast an aura of protection around them just for safety’s sake during the ‘fireworks’ she’ll show them when they get to town. When they gather to her she presses her hands together in front of her chest and as always she imagines hearth and home…. Family.. Safety. She doesn’t stop at these things to draw from though and instead she remembers going unnoticed, passing through a crowd without a single salutation. The strange comfort in being unremarkable and therefore beyond concern. This she holds tight to inside herself as the dome of her protection blooms forth from her having no mass or true weight but feeling like a warm blanket on a cold night.. The scents of fresh bread and hot drinks.. The protection of loving arms and the swelling of one’s heart and how it gives both just a little more strength to face the world. When the barrier is firmly established she looks to her ‘audiance’ and offers a warm smile, one that expresses her belief in this venture and her best wishes and strength put to it’s positive outcome.
When they start towards the city she’d begin to tell them stories, not to brag but to establish aloud their reason for where they’re going, to give them some idea of what she’d be showing them. She tells them about the first time the stars answered to her call and danced around her, giving her their light and beauty, of the first instance a web of them had been used by her hand, to entangle a foe. She looks to the shimmer of the shield around them and would share the story of its first use, and how she cherished the ability to offer protection without violence. She smiles a little as the most recent growth in her abilities comes to mind. She promises they will get to see a cat of stars one day, or more likely night. All this given in a somewhat cheerful tone, perhaps the practiced one of a museum guide.
By the time she’s run long on words but short of stories they’ve arrived at the outskirts of the town, where the skies are darkest and the stars more easily seen. She reaches out and scruffs the boys hairs and then her hands extend upwards. She silently summons the stars to her once more and they draw down with a swiftness of familiarity. Dancing around her and the three in her orbit as she gives a soft little laugh and sends them rushing back upwards. All save one that she gently tucks away under Sigyns collar “For luck” she smiles gently and then returns her attention to the skies, and then only moments later the pinpoints of light that guide the lost and give wishes to children begin to dance at her whim. Moving first in what looks like downward strikes only to streak across the sky again. As this simple motion continues Sanura releases the feel of being .. unseen, beyond comment or notice.
The feeling seems to leave her and be almost repelled by her presence as it washes over the mother and children. The one so desperate to protect the other.. To keep them safe and grant them hope of a future brighter than they would otherwise know. The beauty of such love and hope washes through her and tears well from her eyes and spill down her cheeks… in the glistening tears, Stars that she’d not drawn down but that .. are suddenly there. They escape the joyful tear and move to their proper places, gracing her frame, granting her their light and steadfast strength. Her laugh is one of delight at the event and as the essence of that which would have them seen is drawn forth Sanura sends the stars into a true dance, swishing across the sky and back, taking the shape of their constellations more solidly and then dispersing. Beneath this showy display she silently works, unobtrusively weaving the essence around the three, making more and more solid their likeness and .. the feel of -them-. She draws on all she’d learned of them in the time passed what brought them joy and pain, what she’d seen about each that was .. different from any other being. As the last of the ‘fabric of essence’ is stitched into place Sanura meets the gaze of Sygin and mentally gives the order. -Go- .
As she returns her gaze to the sky she feels the truth of presence slip away, though the forms beside her seem real as if the three were still at her side. She spreads her hands and suddenly it’s as if there were a fireworks show, Stars drawing together only to burst apart in glittering flowers of light. The people of town had been slowly drawing near, the force of personality and the show urging them on. The mother and children able to slip into the crowd mingle in their midst and become lost even further. The smile on Sanura’s face as she conducts the display is genuine and full of hope. Radiance that has little to do with the stars around her shines brightly from her very skin, her hair a dark shadow for the glow to highlight and try to hide behind as the blackness spreads down her body and the glow solidifies into tiny points of light, the woman no longer visible against the star field of a sky but her work goes on, and she creates moments of beauty growing in complexity and greatness till finally.. It’s as if the stars stop in place and shimmer down in a falling curtain. Sanura isn’t there any longer, but there in the sky over Bakersfield is a new shape in the celestial theatre, a Caracal kitten with Andromeda. The small shape bounds and leaps through the stars, dancing around the moon and playfully trying to pounce, after a moment of play the kitten grows to the size of Andromeda and then bounding over to join it, and as the two become one the lights of Andromeda brighten and outshine all the sky for several moments before dimming to a gleam that is still more than it once was…

ST
People spill onto the streets, lean out of windows, climb onto roofs. The night sky is alive.
Eyes which have seen all manner of miracles, of tragedies, of things long forgotten, are drawn from their homes to behold one like they have never seen before. The night sky is alive.
Predators cease their hunt and stare upward; slumbering critters awaken and climb out of their dens and hollows; observers reflect what they see in their large, gleaming eyes. The night sky is alive.
And three figures walk utterly unnoticed through them all. One soft but firm voice commands the other two’s eyes firmly down; one’s glacier-blue eyes stays pinned on the two underneath her hands.

ST
The night sky is alive.
It’s like the singing, ringing of jewelry, the whispering, swishing of cloth.
Each star an ancestor. Each ancestor a story. History glitters around Sanura, everywhere, from every place and every time, suspended in the sky eternal as if a museum exhibit.
But… and…
The night sky is alive.
Stand by and watch no longer. They speak as a multitude without words, sing voicelessly with aching beauty.
Each star an ancestor. Each ancestor a story. History glitters around Sanura, everywhere, from every place and every time, clamoring to make themselves heard.
And then the sky splits with a great roar like fabric ripping apart with a tug of incredible force.
Something is wrong.
Still the stars clamor.
Shadows slither through the tear in the fabric of the sky.

Star-Bringer
The brightened stars give a blink and Sanura is once more on terra firma, She attempts to ‘sew’ the sky back together, drawing stars with trailing dusts back and forth over the rending… She could fix this she could totally fix this.. what the hell was this!?

The Rift

ST
Elsewhere, the sunsong enfolds, compresses, pulls apart with each measure, shedding unnecessary notes and rests and clefs and bars. Elsewhere, the depths crush, further and further like an unwanted crown, drowning, drowning, until something comes through the other side. Elsewhere, the fire blazes, all-consuming, burning even the ashes clean and empty until all can be seen. Elsewhere, the steam scalds and peels and scrubs away the flesh until something fresh and clean steps out. Elsewhere, a crack splits through the steadfast mountain, revealing the core. Elsewhere, growth snakes through, piercing like thorns, opening something up like a bloom. Elsewhere, the black nothing stretches out from the middle, vaster than ever, and… something steps through. Elsewhere, the blazing blood burns hot, conflagrating away everything until only something pure is left behind. Elsewhere, fire rises and water falls, swirling together like dance partners, mingling like lovers, building in speed and fervor until the sudden stillness, where nothing but what matters is left behind.
The lady fills her beloved city. The man who is as an icy mountain peak finds himself melting away. The one who sings the stormsong splits like lightning striking the earth.They are where they must be.
But…My work has only just begun.
The sky is split.
Like torn fabric.
Like an opened way.
Like the mouth of a predator.
Fire. Water. Earth. Sky. Darkness. Light. Death. Life. Creation. Destruction. Chaos.
Chaos.
Chaos.
Whirling around in the wound in the sky, wrestling, mingling, growing, separating. Pouring forth, holding back. Birthing flora and fauna, ideas and objects.
All this reflected, writ large, in the glass over the eyes of the lone beholder beneath the tear, hands spread wide and thumb and forefinger pinched as if holding something between them.
But this scene does not meet the eyes behind it. They look somewhere beyond, reading some unseen records, intent yet the sort of utterly impassive and disinterested of one consumed.

Morevuka
Shadows.
Deep and soft and whispering. Sweet, warm voices, promising: saftey, knowledge, posion, that which can never be known…
The world is full of them.
The sky is torn.
Morevuka looked out, past the shivering leaves of the aspen.
Choas and disharmony pour into the world.
But the shadows are thick.
And they are everywhere.
To your mother, and hers, send moonlight.
To the Swan, send a guest on four black paws.
And to the others—Little ones. Do this for me.
The Shadows swell, like a flower filling with water and bursting into bloom, all at once. Fur of dark greys and transparent blacks. Teeth with jagged, sudden edges. Eyes deep green, like the sun shining through thick leaves.
The wolves rise from the shadows of their duty, part of them, part of her.

C.O.: -Mister Sultan.-
Star-Bringer: -Good Evening.-
An Angel: -Susan.-
The Dread Drowned King: -Brendan. I may need you.-
Hungry Emptiness: -Aida. Is it well?-
The Storm’s Keeper: -Shawn.-
Old Coyote: -What did you do.-
Lake Laughter: -Greetings, lady.-
And, someone new. Someone with the bones of her friend, but no longer the blood. Where once vines clung tight like knotted wires around weary shoulders, they now floursh and bloom. Where once the earth was at rest below soft feet, it now trembles and shakes below a tread that knows no hesitation. Where once the shadow lay still and silent, it now leaps like a dog greeting its mistress:
-…Lisa…-
-My lady. Who have you become?-

ST
The moonlight flicks away, fading like a dream.
The guest bounds away, the shadows and sunlight and dreams nipping at his heels.

Veins on fire, each pulse speaking like a wardrum beating in something which is and is not, driving forth towards the vulgarity that tears across the sky

A million songs, playing at once, harmonies among the disharmonies, a cacophony that shreds the soul

Crushing, dark depths through which nothing can pierce, the whispers of that which existed before the ground -Mother Shadow—Dovile… ?- It comes up like an echo from the deep, small and deafening all at once. -What… what’s happening?-

Nothing. Something in the nothing—a shadow standing out against the vast black as obscene as would the sun. The nothing swallows it.

Synaptic jumping from vapor to vapor, like fingers darting over keys or over strings, shaking the world below -Uh… yes. No. Yes. I think.-

-What? Nothing! What’d I do? Not do. What did I not do. I didn’t do anything!-

-Well… hello! Um… where are you?-

All things unfurl/have unfurled/will unfurl like pages beneath eager fingers and eager eyes, the paths of letter winding out in every direction, known and unknown; these fingers, these eyes dart/have darted/will dart over the dark, quiet protector and the branches twisted among hers, down the ways beyond even the shining hopelight illuminates/illuminated/will illuminate, either unknowing or uncaring of such a blunt exposure

Sanura draws stars back and forth with glittery trails as the shadows approach goes unnoticed. As the now famliar .. tap on the shoulder feel of a mind link reaches into her slightly overwhelmed senses. She sets her jaw gently and mentally responds. -So.. kind of.. doing a thing.. with some .. stars.. it’s ah.. I’m doing some mending- her mental voice is slightly on edge. -Something come up on your end?-

Star-Bringer
She focuses more on the task though leaving her ‘ear’ open for further communication. She tries a different stitch, sending a single star through the rift and ‘out the back’ “Come on.. .. come back together..” she murmurs to the rent edges from which she felt sure nothing good would come.

ST
As bid, the stars trail, piercing the sky like needle and thread… but they fall into the hungry mouth of the rift, swallowed by the chaos within, leaving behind the holes punched through the sky by the sewing.

The feelings of Sun-Bearer, Angel, She-Who-Hungers and The Mother of the Lost are whisked along the roots of the Aspen to Yesen and Mokosits.
To The Drowned King, Storm-Bringer and Lake Isabella: -Lisa is in extremity. She tore the sky open. There are monsters.- And a location, an understanding.
To the Drowned King: -She pulled you and The Hungry One into…- A pause, a feeling of completion, of potental fulfilled. -But Aida is crazy right now.- That sense of flattening, a need for sameness.
To Coyote: tch -You got away with it again. They are blaming Lisa. There is a hole in the sky, and monsters.- A sense of location. -You might want to run.-
To the Star Bringer: -Lisa has torn the hole in the sky.-

Sanura halts her attempts at mending a vague sense of releif -Well.. I’m not the cause that’s .. well no help at the moment- she rubs her hand down her face and sighs -Someone needs to help Lisa, I can try but I don’t know how well that’d go. Who’s good at dealing with that level of losing it? Send them .. now ish- She quietly instructs as she frowns. -We’re going to need warriors in case the breach cannot be closed, can you collect them and send them to a point between us and the.. aberration? Are we sure Lisa is the only cause of it his, what is the .. source of the .. invation any inteligence about that? the fissure is one thing but where are the … things coming from?-

-The lady Chors is on her way. My Lord Svantovit has brought Lisa to godhood.-
-They come from the Other Earth. From Burned Bakersfield where the titans rule.-
Morevuka’s wolf whispers to Star-Bringer the status and intentions of the others, but many are in place she cannot see.

Yesen sends a breath back, the impression of one hand closing over another and pulling the other forth through that which lies behind the world, seeking the dreams of the mad.

Mokosits, on the other hand, does not respond, save a slow withdrawal, a tail pulling between defeated legs.

-I…- The news sinks into the depths, to be drawn upon later. -I will take care of Aida.-

-On my way.- His battle song begins from many miles off, timpani thundered by his storm.

-Shiiiiiiiiiit.- And then, -Thanks, le belle femme fatale.- The link disappears like the slinking away of a scavenger.

And then suddenly, from Mokosits, something pulling from deep under his ribs, powerful, hot, unignorable, pooling in the back of his skull and the tail between his legs, filling his every vein; it had been drawn forth by the Swan Maiden’s beckoning, along with the memory of the taste of her, the feeling of her, which now aches deeper than anything he’s known. It scatters his thoughts, steals his words. Only action remains.
And then the coin changes hands.

Vitality, unfurling like a broad, elegant wingspan, her pulse filling with the rhythm of flickering fire and rushing water; never has her appetite been so healthy, so clear and clean and -Dovile.- Concern slices through the thought. -Where’s Lisa? Can you see her?- And then, -Is Mokosits okay? He left in a hurry.-

To Moe: -I don’t know. I doubt it.- Then the information, all of it.
Morevuka wakes another shadow, slumbering in the healthy green of the land of the Tuatha and sends it to Lord Ogma. It sits at his feet and waits.
And she reaches to the roots. -Sahsa, what is he doing?- Exasperation, confusion, maybe fear. He needs something, but what is it? Why is he running alone?

Sanura nods her head -the stars that can be in motion are then the others will come to orbit in their own time I’m sure. Well done accounting for everyone- a faint note of her usual cheer

ST
Mokosits ceases his bolt once he’s outside the walls of Danmairge and rubs his face vigorously into the dirt, whining softly.

Star-Bringer
She uses the faintest of footholds to make her way down the outside of the wall and towards the rift. As she walks she becons down caracal to walk on either side of her, every few steps a pulse works through them and they brighten and grow. She pours more and more of her desire to protect into their strength and pace and step, fangs bared as they run across the ground towards the rift, her voice calling into the break in the precious realm. “HALTANDRETREAT!” she demands of the creatures pushing forth into what she considers her domaign. The cats rushing up ahead but stopping short of engaging, glowing bright with stars fire and growling low and deep. Hissing and swatting with massive claws.

Morevuka
Morevuka breathes in, the scent of blooming flowers and damp earth.
More shadows bloom. A wolf to run to the Teotl, to find Carmen. A wolf to run to the Aeiser, to find Oscar. A wolf to run to the Theoi, to tell Lisa’s aquantance the Wisdom Goddess that there’s a new hole in the sky.

ST
Meanwhile, before the Star-Bringer, the beasts shrink back, hissing or growling or screeching or slurping, some falling under claw and some slinking away, granting her a wide berth.

To Star-Bringer: -Oh, good, I strive to do well. Do I get high marks?- Dry sarcasm.
Morevuka marks the shadows slithering around Star-Bringer’s feet, incase the stars need to move more rapidly then they are currently.

-Shit. Shit. Okay. I… I’m on my way.-

Lord Ogma reaches down and pats the hound on the head. Flowery words of greeting spill forth through the Twisted Aspen, circuitous yet not time-consuming given the medium. -And how might I serve you, fierce Mathair Scath, beloved Lord Alunis, dear Lady Lilliguala?-

-He’s… ah… overwhelmed.- Sasha sends over a clearer pattern of snippets gathered from Mokosits… the vastness of Svarog, the molding and unmolding, and the deep desperation that followed; the shadows and earth and sun and fire and sky and dreams, unbound, holy things shared freely to he who sought sacredness and was never sacred; Moe’s overpowering influence, unrestricted and raw and pure and utterly arousing. -He needs something to help him focus.-

Clean, hot milky steam hiding and scrubbing; a safe haven for secrets whispered in confidence A string of cuss words from a wide variety of languages scrolls across the mind in rapid succession. -Okay, Loba. What’s the damn word here?-

The crash of a glacier falling, carring with it the poetry of ages long passed -Damn. Damn.- A pause, and then, -Whadya need me to hit?-

-What is it you need?-

Star-Bringer
Sanura returns in the same dry tone -oh yes dear, a gold star later for sure- She looks up the stars still remaining in the sky. “If you’ve the heart old ones, come forth and blind these intruders, keep them from this place and add to your story.” She beckons to the ancestors though doesn’t order them into action, instead she returns her regard to the beasts and her eyes take on the look of the cats near her, adding her own growl to their warning as claws made of pure will and intent extend from her fingertips and glow with the inner fire of the heart of a star. Showy but she hoped not to need to put them to use, making threatening swipes towards any creature that dared face the cats that still growled and hissed their own more truthful warning.

ST
The stars streak forth from the sky to the earth, blazing bright as bid. Nearby an alarming variety and volume of pain rings from Bakersfield. The people there were still staring at the light show, hardly knowing what awaited outside the walls save this strange, sudden rift.

To Ogma: No words just understanding. The hole in the sky, the chaos falling forth. A warning.
To Athena: -Lisa is in danger. The sky above Bakersfield has opened.- Images of monsters, the location of the warriors.
To Carmen: -You want to bring some help? And I am worried about- the sensation of the crescendo of harmonies, Susan’s focus, the tearing noise.
To Oscar: A location. A peice of the ring being slowly formed around the horde pouring through the sky.
Morevuka reaches out along her roots, out to her elder brother. -I need you now!- She sends focus. Pure and clear and cold. And then -Find Johanna, she’s- the impression of the entire city.
To Star-Bringer: -Oh good. I will put it on my chart.-

Eagerness, bright and rattling like chains. And then a laugh. -A rousin’ fight t’is be, t’en? Bless you a t’ousand times in one breat’, and a t’ousand t’ousand in t’next!-

-Understood. We will meet you there ASAP.- Quick. Functional. The link remains open, inviting more information if there is any.

-What kinda help? You want I should grab Chalchiuhtlicue and Alvaro? Or you talkin’ more the Huitzilopochtli kinda help?- She pauses. -Yeah, okay, I’ll get both.-

-On it.- A pause. -I’m in the area.- He sends an image of the Aesirs’ home. -Need other folks to smash shit?-

At the plea/order, attention snaps. Clarity follows like a bucket of melted ice on the head. He lifts his face from the ground and shakes himself off, flinging soil from him. -Yes, Lady.- He blinks the afterimage of Sanura’s flashing stars from his eyes and lifts his muzzle, drawing in the scents of Bakersfield. And then he bounds away, seeking the Lady Baker herself. Narrowly he dodges a falling star.

Ken
Ken clears his throat, squinting against the blinding starlight. “Excuse me miss, but I think you should come with me. The stars are falling and it doesn’t seem very safe here just now.”

To the Survivors, all of them she has, an update, information, the coming of the gods.
Athena: More information, about who is coming.
Carmen: -Anyone who feels like coming, ja?- But she’s joking. They need help.
Oskar: -If anyone feels like a fight.- It’s dry, but with it is coming the updated information about what’s pouring through the rift.
Mokosits: -My thanks.-
To Moe: -He’s distracted. Everything is changing. Everything is more. I sent him to find Johanna. She’s….- An impression.
To Ken: -Good evening Dane. Lisa has become a god.- An indication of the identity of the woman infront of him. - She tore the hole in the sky. If she smites you, I am going to laugh.-To Ogma: An impression of gratitude.

unfurling endless whispering FREEDOM -Ah, well, that is new.-

Star-Bringer
Sanura turns to see stars falling far from the mark and cries out “STOP! Return to the heavens I thank you for your aid” she groans and pushes back the guilt that washes over her. A deep breath drawn past her lips as she straightens her spine and turns back to the actual foe that she meant for the stars to disable. Shaking her head and having wisps of darkness fall around her pale features she bares her teeth and steps forward again. Someone needed to arrive and mend this hole before these creatures made it to far to be easily quarried.

Varied acknowledgements come forth in short succession to the information Dovile provides. Athena sends who she’s bringing: Artemis, Ares, Phobos, Deimos, Enyo, Eris, Hera, Harmonia. Carmen quickly goes forth to seek the help from the Teotl. Oskar gives the impression that Freya is already grabbing her blade and spear.

A feeling like a bow.

-I’m sorry, I… I think this was… I think this may have been my fault.- She sends along a quick brush of the image of drawing down the bottle addressed to Lisa from the high shelf, dusting it off, pouring some for Lisa who happened to be visiting Danmairge at the time.

Suddenly, delight draws up short. Briefly, an image of the blindfolded Morrigan scrubbing Midir’s clothes in the river. Her face comes up, and then turns towards Ogma, impassive. Then he cuts off the image quickly, as if realizing that the shadows were still watching. The silence, though impressionless, is still somehow grim.

Morevuka gathers the roots of the shadows, and forms a new pack. The whispers come together.
The Gathering Pack (Sanura, Moe, Ken, Oksar, Shawn, Carmen, Brendan): The postitions of the gathering.
To Moe: -Yeah, sure. Who gave you that, ja?-

Morevuka
Morevuka surfaces, breifly, to scan Bakersfield for Galen.

ST
The Mother of the Lost turns to Ken, not the least bit fazed by his presence there. And as her eyes turn to him, hidden behind glass, the ways respond—not reaching but spreading, not speaking but calling, as if another set of eyes fall on it, another set of feet step on it, another set of fingers can feel its etchings in the tree. More: these eyes are educated, these feet confident, these fingers deft.
At once the stars rocket back into the sky. The slick carpet of shadows beneath Sanura’s heels convey her forth. Soon, the light of the stars illuminate Ken… and a figure, a woman, grand and yet unassuming, reeking of power and yet with a humble carriage, familiar and yet unfamiliar. It is indeed Lisa, but she isn’t Lisa anymore.
To Morevuka, another chorus of acknowledgement, and updates.
Galen’s sharp, pained, half-sobbing breaths quickly reveal themselves to Morevuka’s ears, from the rooftop of the shop. It’s followed by Jeff’s loud, vigorous cursing.

-Um… Lord Svantovit.- A feeling like a sigh dropping heavily to the pit of one’s stomach comes across. -Dovile…- The name comes across like a child’s plea to a mother, deceptively mild with deep uncertainty and conflict. -Do I laugh or cry?-

To Moe: -Laugh now, cry later.- She sends with a sense of holding-up, of the tree, leaning over to shelter you in the wind. A hug.

She leans into the hug, briefly, pressing its comfort into her for later. And then she draws away.

ST
The Swan Maiden’s silvery laugh rings aloud over Kern River as she strides over it as easily and swiftly as a swan flies. An edge lies beneath it, the edge of the crying that would come later.

Morevuka
Morevuka sends a wolf to Galen, quiet and soft. It whispers to him, because Morevuka no longer knows how loud she is.
“Galen. Jeff.” In a voice like precious solitude. “This is—” She almost stumbles over her name “Dovile. Are you well?”

Star-Bringer
Sanura can see the monsters moving past her and gives a low growl. She looks towards the sky and gives an elemental roar of fury that her attempts to prevent the swarm from her home and demense has not been effective. She draws her hands down to her sides, shining claws pointed up in clawed hands. Cat like eyes moving across the sky and picking out the various constelations. Draco, Cerberus, Orion. All of them called to her aid. “Do not allow these creatures to the city!”

Ken
Changing. The unread words rewriting themselves underfoot, the tides reversing and changing branches blooming and dying and chaos oozing like pitch from the rip in the sky…. she is there and he can tell there is something to this, but not what it is when they all sing at once.
The pitch clings to their skin and hair and tongues.
Discordant pitch.
It should ooze elsewhere.
A song in the paths of memory: a place where stars also fell, where life and death were one and the same, where chaos bubbled up through the boughs of the earth. That is a place for this. Ken pushes the pitch towards a song that will harmonize with its melody.

ST
“Dovile…” replies Galen, his voice strained. “My… they… I can’t… it hurts so bad… !”
“We’re fuckin’ BLIND here, Petrov!” barks Jeff, an edge of fear in his voice. “What the FUCK is goin’ on!? Why’s the sky fuckin’ explodin’ and shit!?”
The constellations crash to the ground, battle-ready, and begin to push the monsters back, snapping, striking, stabbing.
Above, a sinuous, pearlescent shape winds through the air as a long ribbon flicks and curves, circling around the rift.
Like the breath of a tern’s wing, Yesen emerges, the subtle lantern-glow mingled with the gentle moonlight. Chors strides forth, bare feet falling on the earth only as the moon’s rays do. She draws one palm over the other and liquid metal star-stuff follows. Quickly she holds it out to the Mother of the Lost—reflected within is her, intent, alert, seeing things as they present themselves in addition to as they are/have been/will be. The Mother of the Lost blinks, mouth falling slightly open. She turns to the rift, a hand coming up absently to the bridge of her glasses. “What have I…” And then the thoughts and suppositions and deductions take off, farther than she could ever have dreamed they would. Suddenly, she’s still, paralyzed by the unspoken paths unfolding before her to the ends of eternity. A stricken look overtakes Chors, the moonlight flashing in astonishment.
The pitch hears a song, a melody, and seeks it eagerly. It begins to thin and ooze like syrup, pouring in gouts outside the walls of Bakersfield. The syrup flows towards Ken, drawn to his memory, attracted to his call. The rift, however, remains unchanging, apparently unmoved by melodies and harmonies and paths.
It is to this scene that Sanura finally arrives.

Star-Bringer
Sanura comes up short and frowns as she sees the … blank look upon the normally bright intelligent features. She regards Chors and her stricken expression and surmises that .. her attempts haven’t gone well. She looks to the mood goddess and offers what she hopes is a reassuring smile. “Things are more.. complicated than we’d hoped?” she lets the question lie and hopes to be informed of the status of the ‘patient’.

Ken
As the past and present start singing the same songs, Ken pulls the memory out of himself. Swings it about his head once, twice, and throws it back to where it came from. It leaves behind a streaking trail of fox-fire (grafting branch to branch in an endless loop) in the place where stars once were - a channel for the chaos, an easier path to run down.

Morevuka
The wolf breathes out. “In a few minutes I will move you somewhere where you will be healed. The sky is exploding because there has been some serious god-shit.”

ST
“It… it worked… I know it did, but…” Chors tries to draw the Mother of the Lost back from the crawling chaos… but when she will not be moved, the moon goddess steps forward, her light strengthening, ready to do what she can to draw or drive the chaos away.
The direction of the chaos changes suddenly as Ken flings the memory to where it belongs. It flows, unobstructed, to the melody there—to the fallen Thrice-Nine Lands—to plague the Bakersfieldians no more.
Meanwhile, Jeff replies to Morevuka: “Well.” A pause. “Fuck.” Another pause, of helpless, groping silence. “Okay.”

Morevuka reaches up for the dragon. -Greetings, my lady. May I ask your intent?-
To the Gathering Pack: -Carmen, can you get a triage set up?- A likley looking spot lights up on the mental map. Between Bakersfield and the battle zone, in a sheltered area with clear feilds of view.

The dragon reaches back, her thoughts crisp and glittering. -I will speak with the scrivener.- A hesitation, a deep consideration. -Excuse me, that was impolite. I would like to speak with the scrivener. When she is ready.-

-You got it.-

ST
The raw chaos which touched the ground, though, begins to shift and change. All manner of things begin to rip free of the soil, giant and fearsome and still shifting and forming like clay. Fire spits, water sprays, winds thrash, earth cracks. They will soon tower over even Bakersfield’s skyscrapers.
And then, the burning sun roars across the sky, streaking daylight towards the rift.
And then, the gods begin to appear, directed unerringly to the chaos and commotion.
And then, the four-headed prophet begins progress towards those gathered just beneath the rift, fully armored, nine swords drawn and a massive ax strapped to his back. Greenery grows beneath his feet, and the echoes of a horse’s clipping hooves follow the sounds of his footsteps.

Star-Bringer
As various reinforcements arrive Sanura nods a little to Chors “I’ll try then to bring her back from where she’s gone.” She looks to Lisa then and her hands rest on the other womans cheeks. Diving into a connection to seek where she’s been taken or is hiding. The small spark of the sun that she carries with her used to light the way as she drifts foward and quietly reaches out, calling for Lisa and bringing with her reassurances and strength to lend. She would have in tow the book that holds the stories of The Found and pictures to remind Lisa of her own strength and ability.

-You said Lisa is a god now?- Ken glances up at the sky. And the missing parts of the sky. -Well. I assume that the one thing lead to the other…- He doesn’t bother to voice the question, which is HOW?!

To Dobrohze: -Okay, I don’t know how much coordinating the Lords and Ladies will be up for. But you are in charge of us, okay?- It’s almost an apology. Ogma and his will arive soon, and hopefully others after that, and if this is going to work, there is going to need to be some basis for cooperation.
To the Dragon: -Of course, my lady. I will inform her.-
To Susan: -Welcome back.- An updating, and adding her to the minds of the Gathering Pack.
To Chors: -My Lady, may I ask you to go to the Drowned King’s Caslte and heal the Empty One?- An impression of the Aida’s gaping blackness following Brenden’s gentle stride around their house. Morevuka opens a door in Chors’ shadow.
To Brendan: -I’m sending lady Chors.-

Ken
Ken kneels down and presses a hand to the ground, whispering to it in its own words. A small world, just large enough for the moon and the stars and a mother and Ken. He asks that tiny piece of the world to turn itself just a bit, so it is not quite there in the same here as the chaos and the drippings and the monsters.

Morevuka
Morevuka, plan as set as it can be and passed to those who needs it, waits.
Waits for her brother to tell her what Lady Baker says.
Waits for the gods to arrive.
Waits to see if Star-Bringer can bring Lisa, too.
And watches the prey.
And Svantovit too, because some things you only get to see once.

Ken

ST
The world turns away at Ken’s bidding, cupping them like a small hand. Sound and smell grow distant, and the thumpings of the chaos in the heart grow weaker.
The four-headed god idly pulls a thermos out from somewhere on his person. One set of eyes turns to Ken. — Ah, dear Lord Spytnieg! — His voice is as if he were speaking on the other side of a wall. He bows with a flourish, his swords scraping a metal song through the air itself. — I advise you to be prepared to mend what you have made.

Ken
Seeing as how the two ladies with him seem to be somewhere other than the here that’s here, Ken plants his axe blade-down in the earth and perches atop it. He keeps an eye (and an ear) on things surrounding them just in case one happens to wind its way in.
-I’ll give it a shot, but I’m not exactly great with a glue gun.- Ken replies. But then something even more urgent intrudes on the senses. He glances at the thermos. -Is that coffee?-

ST
One of Svantovit’s mouths grins. — It is! Would you like some?

Ken
Sap flows, branches grow and whither, paths flinging themselves to life and fading just as quickly Ken takes a slow breath and puts the many things elsewhere for now. Mostly.
-If you have some extra, sure.- Ken says, regarding the coffee. -I don’t suppose you know when I’ll need to fix things, do you?-

ST
As if on cue, a thick, calloused hand thrusts through the newest hole in the world, fingers tearing the delicate fabric of memories.
Svantovit hands over the entire thermos and begins stepping around Ken’s mini world towards the new arrival. — I hope now isn’t too soon for you.
Once more the chaos drips to the earth. Following the hand comes another, and a third, attached to densely muscled limbs. Laboriously they pull three heads through, each blindfolded.
The four-headed one draws the ax from its place on his back. — Lord Triglav. Good to see you again.
— Svantovit. Blade.
One powerful hand reaches out expectantly while more pull the thrice-blindfolded god through. Chaos drips over his features, clinging like oil, tracing the planes of his skin adorned only by scars, catching in the hairs of his body and the fibers of his blindfolds.
Wordlessly, the ax claps in the outstretched hand. Another hand comes about to grab the other end of the shaft, and a third tests the head with a thumb. — Ah! — A laugh, harsh and fierce, rings from a mouth. — You’re the best.
Four smiles respond. — Care to join me in taking on this big fellow one klik to your right?
— Hah! Does the wheel turn?
— You would know better than me.
— Still playing up that humilty horseshit, Svanosya!
— What can I say? I like horses.
Triglav laughs again. — Okay, okay, I concede. But don’t get used to it! It looks like we’ve got important matters to sink our blades into.

Ken
Threads, ripping and tearing under the weight of the fingers of war. Memories split. Roads wiped away. Families strewn asunder. And the sky….sings like it always has, like it always will, you can’t run from it like you can run from land or sea or walls because (like suffering) there is no escape from the sky so you
breathe into the cold steel chambers. A cold wind to sing its way over the surface of memory-roads, to smooth the edges back together and freeze what had been thawed.

ST
Once more the chaos is redirected towards the ruins of one of the old worlds, the fairytale kingdom, like the sliding of oil over ice, like the sliding of feeling over memory. But not before another series of mounds begins to grow.

Ken
Skypaths taken care of, Ken turns his attention back to the two women. As frozen as the memories. He’s never tasted the memories of the one, but the other… he knows their shape and their scents. Light shining on the waters. Stars.
Ken closes his eyes and-…not so fast, bud. I don’t care how much of a hurry in, you put the damn safety harness on because I don’t want to have a second body on my hands…"
Ah. Yes. There must be a chain. For safety’s sake. The taste of iron fills his nostrils.a single oath sworn to both the moon and the stars, the dream and the dreamer, a chain spanning the length of the sky and with him between
That will do. After all, one can’t ask for a stronger chain than an oath. He grips it firmly in his heart, closes his eyes, and falls into the stars.

Star-Bringer and the Mother of the Lost

ST
The Star-Bringer reaches out with her guiding glow andripples, threads, roots, veins, a mazenone of these; all of these at oncefrom the center out, from then to now to the end of all things to the beginning
They open up to her, past…Accompanied by Khonsu, the youthful, soothing moon-guide, Star-Bringer…Alongside Ken, freedom’s shepherd, Star-Bringer…Paying no heed to her own safety, Star-Bringer…Taking the roots and branches of the Twisted Aspen with her, Star-Bringer…
(It fades, it all fades, the ways withering unrealized.)
… present…With naught but the a small light from the sun and the tales of the past, Star-Bringer sought the Mother of the Lost within the branching paths of eternity. She wandered, her light small in the face of endlessness.
(Another ripple spreads; another thread weaves; another root reaches; another vein presses out. One action opens up countless ways like a fractal.)
… and future…It was not enough. She forged onward, turning fiercely away from the meaning of defeat as she ever did. And so she was lost…Seeing that she would need more, she drew upon the glittering stars that were her jewelry, scattering them down the paths she could not follow…It was not enough. This was made quickly evident, and so she stepped back, attempting to find the way back out. And so she was lost…She held the tales close and called to the Mother of the Lost with her bright, clear, commanding voice, reminding her of where she had come from…
(Ever-onward they go. For every way Star-Bringer follows, there are eight more that open up around her, beyond her reach, sieving through her grip like desert sands.)

Star-Bringer
stops in the huge scape of endless mind. Her brow furrowed in frustration as she looks around her again and her hand moves to the star at her throat as she ponders a moment. A faint twitch of a smile as she thinks there are easily as many paths as stars in the sky.. why not have them be her guides in a more active sense. When she lowers her hand from her necklace there is a white shimmering ball of light, it soars upwards into the endless black and from it burst untold milions of stars all sent out with the request to find Lisa and lead her back here, or at least to return with direction to the mistress of the ‘lands’. The brightest of the stars remains just over Sanura’s head, a shining light to guide the others home or perhaps to gain the notice of The Mother of the Lost to guide her ‘home’.

STAnd so Star-Bringer called upon her stars, sending them out along the paths of eternity in search of the Mother of the Lost.
(Another fractal emerges from this action, and another from each of the stars.)

Star-Bringer
Sanura frowns as she watches more and more paths opening, softly cursing under her breath. She sighs and brings her hands up and waves them towards her in a beckoning motion. “Ok ok come back here guys” she grumbles a little and as they return she guides them all upwards to the star over head. Maybe if I make enough of a beacon Lisa will find -me- she reasons as she starts to brighten the mass of stars over her head, sending them dancing and with the very force of her presence would begin to project a ‘sound’ a small smile of amusement as she too hears the keening mewl of a kitten, feeling it sure to draw the Mother of the Lost from her endless revery.

STFrustrated by the fracturing ways, Star-Bringer recalled her stars and remained still, calling to the Mother of the Lost with the mewing of a kitten.
(Another ripple spreads; another thread weaves; another root reaches; another vein presses out.)It was not enough…The cry reached far through eternity, so far that it caught, faint on the Mother of the Lost’s ears…It was not enough…It was not enough…
(And so it goes.)

Star-Bringer
Sanura frowns a little bit and taps a well shod toe upon the ‘ground’ she once more pauses to gather herself and then peering down a few paths she seeks one that is most surely the past or at least well likened to the past she knows. One in which she finds herself.. and friends .. with this she seaks to open a new path back the way she came, one to request the aid of the others. Remembering the by now familiar accompanyment of those she’d shared such a link with before, mentally reaching out to.. tap tap tap on their shoulders. Hoping to reach out of this endless sea and extend a hand upwards for aid.

STIt was not enough. This was made quickly evident, and so she stepped back, attempting to find the way back out…
(A meeting of paths, from with others branch; they begin to wind around to the circle as she seeks the past, giving rise to baffling recursions, and soon the past is indiscernable from the present is indiscernable from the future.)

Star-Bringer
Sanura grumbles again at the .. mess of .. tangle.. “hmmmn” she was looking at this all wrong. A faint nod of her head as she closes her eyes and leaves behind the impression of pathways. Upwards from the perspective of Gods and stars, looking down at the fractle image. She had delt before with knots and tangles and balls and reams of string and twine. She might not be able to sort it -all- out but .. she reaches out towards the endless array of threads and would begin gently tug one then push another. Meticiolous and slow work but eventually having several cords sorted and then those that hum with familiarity of family are chosen.. woven together by deft fingers into a tapestry.. of a door.. a handle on it that is a ring to pull and hopefully open the door to step out into her own mind once more.

STStar-Bringer rose to her place in the heavens and looked down…
(From on high, it’s evident: the threads spread out not like a tapestry but like a neural network, endless connections in all directions.)… and she reached out to manipulate the threads of Fate into a way out…

ST
Ken reaches out, following the line of his oath andripples, threads, roots, veins, a mazenone of these; all of these at oncefrom the center out, from then to now to the end of all things to the beginning
They open up to him, past…Alongside Star-Bringer with her sunlight glow and her book of memories…Without his anchor to Yesen, the lingering dream…
(It fades, it all fades, the ways withering unrealized.)
… present…With his lifeline in one hand, and the Star-Bringer’s in the other, Ken sought Star-Bringer within the branching paths of eternity. Around him, branches grow ever onward, endless, stretching and splitting and stretching again. He appeared there before her, a light amidst a tangle of ways, dispersing the woven door.
(Another ripple spreads; another thread weaves; another root reaches; another vein presses out. One action opens up countless ways like a fractal.)
… and future…He pulled on his lifeline to draw himself from the mire of thoughts, and the lingering dream, wracked with cramping pain, toppled, falling into eternity…Gently keeping one hand on his line, he began to guide her back with his trudging steps…
(Ever-onward they go, their destinations as fragmented and mysterious as the words written in any guidebook Ken’s glanced over.)

Ken
“Hello, Sanura min. You look a bit lost.”

Star-Bringer
Sanura sighs as it seems she’s been found. “Yes.. just a little bit..” she mutters as she takes the offered guidance “I can’t find Lisa .. I got stuck in here.. bloody useless” she shakes her head. “If you can get us out I suppose we’ll have to.. plan.. how are things outside?”

Ken
Ken thinks, scratching his chin. “They could be worse, I suppose. No one is dead that I noticed. And I have a thermos of coffee, so it is downright luxurious.” He thinks for a moment more. “Well now, finding has never really been your strong suit, has it? Why don’t we work together on that part so you can get on with the real work, eh?”

Star-Bringer
Sanura scoffs softly and nods “Yes please, have at it” she murmurs and makes a gesture with her free hand that goes along with her statement.

Ken
Ken smiles, nods, and motions with one hand for her to follow, holding the chain between them fairly short so she will not be dragged too far behind. Then he reaches out and brushes his soul over the countless unfolding roads, searching for one that leads to Lisa.
And….
Of course.
“Ah, well, that is simple enough. We will go…” he plays a quick game of eenie-meenie-minie-moe and finishes up with “this way.”

Star-Bringer
Sanura face palms and sighs “so long as it works” she murmurs as she heads along silently after that.

STConfident that the Mother of the Lost could be found on it, Ken started out along a path and Star-Bringer followed, dubious.
(Again, more possibilities open up around them.)

Star-Bringer
As they go along Sanura sighs faintly and brightens, her frame casting light further down the paths ahead of them perhaps allowing Ken to see further. The luminence is cool and steady.

Ken
He moves confidently, blithely, almost blind to the veins of possibiities spreading out around them. Ken smiles at the starlight. “Do not worry, kettlingur min. She is everywhere. We can’t help but find her sooner or later.”

Star-Bringer
Sanura nods her head slightly to him , a frown on her lips and her eyes reflecting worry.

STPerhaps Ken was correct or fortunate. Perhaps he knew exactly what to look for. Perhaps it was his surety which summoned her, or perhaps it was always meant to be. All the same, their paths crossed.
(Lisa, paused at a crossroads, examining the paths before her as if reading a book. And then she sets out a foot to start down another way.)

Star-Bringer
Sanura heaves a faint sigh mixed resolution and relief. She calls out as she steps forward, not breaking the link with Ken. “Lisa… I know this is all very interesting but you’re needed” she attempts simple conversation, testing the waters of Lisa’s focus…

ST“Perhaps.”
(From her word grows more branches, more paths, twining with the ones growing from them. It’s evident that it could trap them—and clearly the Mother of the Lost can see this this too, as she offers nothing more. She takes her step forward, heedless of Star-Bringer and Ken.)

Ken
Ken steps foreward with her, and Sanura with him, to keep her close enough to their hearts.

Star-Bringer
Sanura says a few curse words in a couple of different languages. As Ken steps forward and gives her some leeway with the connection she’d make her way towards Lisa and reach out with a firm but gentle hand to try and grasp the wandering womans shoulder. “Lisa” her tone carrying more weight. Stars from her person move to block the path, the light making it hard to see past to all the possibilities.

STWith the stars blocking her vision, with the entreating touch on her shoulder, the Mother of the Lost turned to Star-Bringer.
(For a brief moment, it is clear, it is open. And then, a million, a trillion… somethings… wind through Star-Bringer, like snakes, like snapping synapses, like roots, and emerge from her, spreading off in every direction. Written in them are thousands of tales of success, of doom, of joy, of tragedy; over and over she lives through loss, through anger, through despair—and through ecstacy, through victory, through peace. Images and emotions overlap, bleed together, and fade. Ages fly by, and moments drag on.)

Star-Bringer
Sanura grimaces a little with the feeling of someone walking over her grave and then stepping in and mucking about. She sighs and sets her jaw as she puts both hands on Lisa’s shoulders and peers at her. "Stop looking beyond. Remember the Mortality and the importance of -Now-. " She puts her hand over Lisa’s eyes. “Now your children are under attack and need your guidance more than ever. Your place is not in this space alone but with family. Come back to us”

STFamily.
(The lone word stops the growth of the roots. The rest follow.)your children are under attackneed your guidancecome back to us
(And then, the paths withdraw, rapidly. As they do, something about the Lisa before them… changes. She becomes different; she becomes more herself.)The Mother of the Lost at last heard Star-Bringer and her heart yearned for her family. She turned from eternity to meet them. But she waited first for Star-Bringer and Ken to emerge, to ensure that they would not be lost again.
(A single path opens, leading out, happening to follow Ken’s lifeline to the lingering dream.)

Star-Bringer
Sanura’s shoulders sag a little as Lisa looks .. more like Lisa. She’d follow Ken out, rubbing her brow as she goes. Did goddesses get headaches, she swore she felt one coming one.

Ken
Ken waits patiently through their exchange, watching with passive interest as the ever-unfolding pathways grow and then shrink and then fade away entirely. Then, once they’re ready, he turns and grips the chainI will walk beside you
hand over handblood will be your cloak
link by linkwhatever you do, don’t let go
toward the moonlight.
The sky parts for them, the waters recede, and they stand once more on their island.

Morevuka and the Field of Battle

ST
Meanwhile, in the Twisted Aspen…

-I’m sending lady Chors.-
Little drops of the Drowned King trickle away into the maw of nothing, little drops from an endless ocean. -Appreciated, but no hurry.-

-My Lady, may I ask you to go to the Drowned King’s Caslte and heal the Empty One?- An impression of the Aida’s gaping blackness following Brenden’s gentle stride around their house. Morevuka opens a door in Chors’ shadow.
A deference of office shines forth in a gentle beam, alongside the usual deference of respect. -Of course, Lady Morevuka.- Moonlight fades into shadow and emerges beneath the sea, seeking the starving emptiness.

-Welcome back.- An updating, and adding her to the minds of the Gathering Pack.
An eternal melody drifts through the lightness that she has become Angel accepts the update, adds its measure seamlessly to her own, and her song drifts across the Gathering Pack. -Thanks.- Alongside the gratitude goes unease at the hazy, feverish memories of before she had “come back,” and at how different everything has suddenly become.

-Of course, my lady. I will inform her.-
Acknowledgement flicks from the tail of the dragon.

… but you are in charge of us, okay?…The sunsong rises to the sky, flung by arms wide open as if to embrace the dawn and fire lights up the horizonPlease, I need you now. The son of Svarozhich—the grandson of Svarog—brings the sunlight and fire together as if between two powerful hands, allowing the superhot focus to fill him from from his center out, fueling him with the essence of millennia. Then he lifts the aspen, letting its roots wind around and through him. -Yesen, lend me your steps.-
A wordless breath comes across, raising him to the sky. A gleaming red-gold streak across the night sky follows, sliding for the rift.
He reaches back, drawing upon the senses of the warden. The field unfolds before his burning gaze, more complete than he could ever have dreamed.the tapestry unfolds before his burning gaze, revealing the falling of stars from the sky; a forgehammer strikes out at the autumn and its ringing blow makes the tree shiver Dobrozhe presses the focus tighter.

ST
Below, the angel gallops through the sky on her shining steed, a choir trailing her like a cape.
Dobrozhe beams a focused light on the spot the hound had chosen.
The angel dismounts and the steed disappears in a flash of light.
Below, the divine brothers eat the distance with their paces, ax shining, spear glinting, bow groaning taut.
Dobrozhe sends them the images, the power of the monsters of chaos like the beating of a wardrum.
The arrow whistles across the battlefield, sinking to the fletching in the flesh of the quarry.

ST
Meanwhile, in the Gathering Pack (as they proceed on their routes and tasks)…

A warm, enfolding greeting from the gracious greeter to everyone in the pack, comfort given and received in turn even as they go about their business. And then: -That was…- a quick rifling through carefully-chosen words… -intense. Everyone okay?- It’s a question borne with the earnestness of deep concern.

-Yep.- This is the mountain’s peak only response.

At the same time, raucous laugh rings over from the stormrider, the thrill of rousing music pounding in his veins.

The lady of secrets takes in a feeling like a breath. -I… I don’t know, manita.-

-No.- The undersea king’s curt reply whips sharp. Then he pulls back and opens like a hand extended in peace. -I… I think I drowned.-

The maiden offers up a feeling like a hug. The king waves it away.

-It’s over now. I’ll cope.- Waters begin to still.

An impression of crossing arms comes over from the lady. -Brendan. Devon. Gair. You’ll cope, but don’t even think about doin’ it alone. You should know better.-

Rippling anger—

The stormrider’s thought crackles through, with all the weightlessness of dancing lightning. -Yes, Mother. We’ll eat the brussels sprouts.-

The mountain’s peak barks a laugh.

After a moment, the lady takes the lightness for her own. -Damn fuckin’ straight you will. I slaved hard over ‘em. They’re full of vitamins and love and shit like that what makes you muy viguroso!-

In spite of himself, the king’s anger ebbs slowly to the mirth skirting at the edges.

Warmth grows from the shining angel to the others, coupling with the maiden’s laughter.

-You okay, Suze?- The maiden prods when the humor runs its course.

-I will be, once this is all over. I’m mostly worried about Lisa right now.-

-Well…- A sigh. -I feel like I was just ambushed out of nowhere by the biggest… I guess orgasm of my life and I feel great but also really confused and maybe… violated? I’m not sure. So I’m a bit of a mess.- She pauses. -To say nothing of the circumstances around Lisa becoming a god and then her flipping out and the world breaking. Again.-

The king offers up a feeling like a hug.

The maiden accepts it.

The shadow listens.

ST
Below, mounds begin to rise from the seeds of chaos strewn about the earth, their endless hunger lurking under the surface, seeking anything, everything, for sustenance.
The moist mother earth and the mother of man stagger on their way to the point of light between Bakersfield and the rift, the strength stolen from them by agony, saved from collapse by the familiar singleminded resolve which comes from labor pangs and the strength of their father who props them each up with a stable branchlike shoulder.
Dobrozhe draws their agony away, pulling it tight to his enkindled heart.
The moist mother earth renews her pace, shaken but resolute, pausing only to turn back and offer a hand and murmur of encouragement to her stricken sister. The mother of man collects herself and takes them both, and together they continue on.

Mokosh’s cautious thought pushes forth. -My Lord, are you…-

ST
Dobrozhe doubles on himself and begins to sink to the ground under the weight of the pain.

Irritation twines across like the winding growth of a vine. What was he thinking! -Perhaps you ought to give it back to us, Lord Regent.- It is at once a suggestion and the command of a mother trying to keep her patience.

Unable to push thoughts through the pain, Dobrozhe merely tightens on himself further.

Frustration flowers. Stubborn—! But she withers it with the cold press of duty. -Then breathe, my Lord.- Her counsel comes across as a word and as the pattern of breathing, practiced, calm, and firm.

-Hey, give me some of that.- Morevuka reaches into Dobrozhe’s heart and takes the pain. It slides easily into a thousand shadows, and that which doesn’t fit she lifts onto her back.
Then she folds her legs and sits. And continues to wait, this time girded by pain, to make the time go more slowly.

Yesen reaches forth wordlessly and takes her third, slipping it from Dobrozhe and Morevuka with the ease of a master pickpocket.

Hot concern presses back. -Doviluze…-

And to Dobrozhe, along the silent roots, -It’s okay, Sashukas. It’s just pain. It will pass.-

-I know.- Still, consternation comes across from the Lord Regent, clouded by pain. -But it still hurts. And I would rather hurt than know you are hurting.- It is not a hope of changing her mind, just a statement of his consternation.

-Ah, Shashukas!- Love, like melting butter and unexpected support under fumbling fingers And then, after a tense, pausing moment, a contraction, a breath, -What did I ever do to deserve you?- And then, -The faster you squish all the things, the sooner we are done.-

-Deserve!- Incredulity, as if the word had suddenly become absurd. And then Dobrozhe laughs, gingerly but genuine, and envelops his sister in the loving heat of the hearthfire.

A warm, bolstering breath of love from Yesen, albeit with the edges made harsh by pain.

And then, startlement from Dobrozhe. -Yesute! You too?- Almost instinctively, he reaches, waiting for her to return the pain.

-Hurry and squish the things, please.- It’s not quite begging, but it’s getting there. She grips firmly onto it with talons of determination.

-Yes, Lady.- Devchuska sings her throaty song through the air, ending it with a resounding, hearty THUMP.

ST
Dobrozhe rises as some of his pain is eased. He calls the fire between his palms. Devchuska leaps eagerly into his waiting hands.
And then he gives the steps back to Yesen, and meets his target like a blazing meteor.

-Prishka, by Lord Dobrozhe’s grace I’m afraid I must be the pain now: you ought to continue to expel the- an impression of growing, living chaos. Rod’s gentle reminder blooms over the branches of the Twisted Aspen.

-Oh! Yes! Thank you, Father.- And then the mother of man reaches back deep into herself, deep into the earth, and presses.

As an aside to Yesen and Morevuka, Rod adds: -I can’t help but feel I should have brought vodka and cigars.-

Morevuka grunts in agreement with her grandfather.

ST
Half-formed they emerge, splitting rock and soil. Countless mouths part and melt together; eyes flick open and then are swallowed by what may or may not be flesh; limbs push forth and pull back in turns in attempts to free themselves from the soil. And then the ‘big fellow’ emerges one klik to the right, just in time for Svantovit to turn away and bow, digging two blades into the ground, point-down. Triglav charges forward, sets a foot on Svantovit’s lowered shoulder, and springs into the sky. Svantovit rises and charges forward. Triglav arcs and then swings his axe forward, tucking into a forward flip before crashing into the behemoth born of chaos. Svantovit isn’t far behind, quickly dismembering the monster. But the limbs grow as quickly as they’re cut.

-My Lord Dobrozhe.- It’s Mokosits. -If I may.- At the guest’s wary beckoning, the roots uncurl and extend, digging into the foundations of Bakersfield itself, into the patchwork dreams that brought it to life, that sustain it.

each square of plaster, each inch of pavement, each brick, each bar of metal, offer up impressions, emotions, experiences weathered into them with the ravages of time singing like bones and pounding like a pulse

Mokosits lends her the cold focus his sister bestowed upon him.

A group of scattered dreams gather together.

-My Lady.- Dobrozhe speaks gently, but firmly.

The voice of Johanna resounds: -Petrov.- The name rings hollow, feeling fondly remembered albeit disused, like the name of long-forgotten friend. She hands the focus back.

Dobrozhe trades her the information like a parcel. She accepts it, opens it, and it falls into the mass of patchwork dreams, scattering briefly before gathering toward her again. -Can you keep the people safe?- he asks.

-Yes.-
Another gathering, a drawing together of all the ends of Bakersfield. And then the walls grow, unseen but strong.

Mokosits’s thought slides across like a smooth-crooked bow. -May I assist, Lady?-

-Be my guest.-

Alongside the growing shield Mokosits weaves the thread of dreams: dreams of the sky, dreams of the earth empty of all but scrub and succulant, dreams of the warm, wet jungle.
Bakersfield turns away from the eye of the rift and the senses of the beasts.
It comes easily to Mokosits—too easily, an outpour of a miscalculated flood of tea. And the shell cracks. He tugs sharply, yanking it to a halt like an unruly horse. And then he buries the fear, the despair, the anger deep in the dark earth.

Morevuka
So many of them are still in the earth.
Gathering strength, tearing at the womb of her mother, at the body of her aunt.
Memories beat at the wall of her mind, but they beat with fists of mist. Too far away, too quiet. It’s the shadows of the earth that speak, almost too loud to hear. Almost bloting out thought with guidance and orders and pleas and whispers…
The earth buldges with mis-born, growing children. Thrashing, pericing with thorns and ripping with claws.
But still lying in the earth, their hearts beating in time with the Mother’s.
Their breath- hers.
Their life- hers.
Bound with roots, many and spreading-
Bound with a tie of flesh and bloom, one white wiggling worm of muscle and fat.
Morevuka breathed in, shadow and pain. The ground is full of shadows, and her eyes extend there-
Into the belly of the earth.
The cord is strong beneath her teeth. Gristle, gripped between the teeth, with the cold of ice, or of stone.
take a breath, draw fire along the roots like smoke up the stovepipe
With teeth of shadows-
With teeth of embers-
Morevuka bites down. Twists her mouth, shakes her head.

ST
At first, the cord writhes and slips between seeking jaws. Sharp Teeth nick the connection; the vitality drawn from the earth spills over Morevuka’s tongue.
But she finds purchase. With a snap! the cord is severed. The vitality spills from the worm, and it slows and finally stills.
Above, wheat pushes through the ground, marking the death of chaos.

ST
And then…
Alarm draws the moon’s light back in a wordless gasp. Reflected in her starmetal palm is gaping, empty nothing. It leaks into her heart, endless, vast, and uncaring.
But it quickly ebbs.
The empty one’s hunger has faded, and the oily black drips from her skin. The dread drowned king’s ocean-filled eyes flash and the information passes from him to her. Slowly, she spreads through the Gathering Pack.

More of the angel’s warmth comes across. -Glad you could join us, Pinkie Pie.-

-Yeah. Me too.-

ST
She-Who-Hungers bows her head to her guest. “Thanks, my lady.”

A shiver climbs the roots, soft, suppressed, but profound. It is followed by an ache of empathy, deep and powerful, pulled to the dark figure before her… and elsewhere.
-For my darling Yena.- A feeling like an enveloping hug travels to the trunk, waiting for a good time to be distributed.

ST
And then Chors follows the Drowned King and She-Who-Hungers from the Castle Beneath the Sea. At a few quick words, Death herself bows and slides back, donning the mantle of command.

Morevuka
Another, and another, bearing pain. Moving in chunks, hunker down when the contractions come, sliding deeper.
another, and another, life leaking out from between her teeth
And the a pause, a breath, a moment of comfort waiting, passed on.

ST
Beneath the earth, the children of chaos cease and settle into a final rest, one-by-one.
Upon the soil, fields of wheat grow one by one. Behemoths lurch and stomp and squeal and roar. They are met by fire and blade and ax and spear and arrowflight.
Meanwhile…
The masters of desert and oasis disembark.
The guardians of the pharaoh bound after their charge; eyes gleaming, teeth flashing.
The lurker in the water surges forward, his powerful body wending a path like a river through the snapping beasts.
The lion of war lopes towards his prey, a roar ringing out across the world like a dare.
The wandering warrior waits only to receive his mother’s blessing on his cheek before following the falcon’s cry into battle.
The music’s joy, the moon’s healing light, the resplendent queen, and the first doctor turn to the growing triage, lit by an angel’s radiance.
Dobrozhe holds out a feeling like an outstretched hand to the shadow wolves, beckoning them towards the newcomers with the parcel-like information granted to the lady of Bakersfield.
The music’s joy looks to her beloved son and together they move like a dance. The resplendent queen shakes out her gauzy sash of stars and settles it over the gathering triage, shielding them from the eyes of chaos. The first doctor gathers his things and settles into the familiar hurried waiting.
The cat leaps and streaks a silvery light across the sky. Moonlight collides with blazing, raging sunfire just before it can dive into the mouth of hell. The two fall to the earth, striking as a meteor. Fire blazes, but claws only dig, pressing the prey to the ground. And then a wide, circular eye stares, pupil narrowing to a black slit amidst white. Reflected within is control at its purest, a sharp, blazing eye unclouded by rage.
And then she steps off. The prince of the sun rises, nods to his sacred guardian, and assesses the situation anew. In short order he motions to the wandering warrior who joins them. And then, they start off.

ST
The lion pulls shoulder to shoulder with the lioness. Wordlessly, as one, they part, the lion charging a behemoth straight-on as the lioness circles around the back. Teeth and claws flash, and another roar rips through the air. The lion bunches and leaps. A a mawed limb reaches out to close over the lion’s neck, the lioness’s powerful jaws snap it clean off. Another lioness harries the monster’s ankles, and another snaps off its whipping, clawed tail.

ST
And then…
Those of the Fate-stained cloth set foot on wooden dockplanks.
The general with the chained tongue wordlessly gestures to the rooted one and his grim-faced sons. The boldest wears freshly washed clothes over his squared shoulders.
The blind crow-witch and her daughter take to the skies, arms flung wide as feathered wings.
The wrathful physician and the abjected herbalist turn toward the tear in the sky.
Dobrozhe sends them all an image of the field of engagement.
The general’s chains shake with the gratitude of a loquacious tongue.
At the circling warriors closing in, the behemoth stomps, quaking the earth, and lets out a gurgling roar, a blast of sound which rolls out, scattering debris and hitting like a wall of bone-breaking force. The rooted one steps forward, the others gathering behind, and spreads his feet, turning one shoulder to the wall. It hits with a CRACK!, and the dug feet drag a deepening backwards furrow in the ground. But the others are spared, allowing them to continue their progress—and the rooted one straightens and rolls his shoulder with crackling and popping that fades to the groaning of taut, newly-healed muscle and joins the charge anew.

ST
And below, the dread drowned king, the empty one, and the moon’s light emerge to the fractured world. The empty one reaches in and stretches wide the way to the nothing beyond all things and holds a hand out to her husband and their escort. With a polite dismissal the moon’s light starts off to where the Hammer calls; and the terrible couple pass behind and through the distance between them and their divine mother.

ST
Finally, as Morevuka finishes her grim work…
The paragons gather, weapons resting in experienced hands like limbs too long unused.
The wardog and his three companions, horror, dread, and war’s sister sprint forward, unheeding of those behind them, rebel yells ripping from their throats.
The strategist motions sharply to the others. The queen, the hero, and the shadowed lord form up around her; the huntress sprints into the sky with a few long, leaping strides; the messenger streaks across the night sky, message held on his quicksilver tongue.
Dobrozhe quickly unfolds an update before the strategist, along with an offering of a pack of shadow wolves. She accepts it, and at his bidding the wolves spread to stalk the others.
The blood-keepers crouch through the jungle foliage, vicious weapons brought to bear.
The blackened god stalks from shadow to shadow ahead of the rest, yellow cat-eyes twitching, flat tongue flicking over thirsting lips. His charge follows, one hand on the powerful shoulder of the half-tamed beast beside him.
The king of the south limps on a bandaged leg, pain twitching through his skin but not twisting the yellow and blue stripes across his face.
The goggle-eyed rainbearer pulls his hidebound shield close, keeping apace with his limping king.
The lady of secrets directs the bleeding god, the protector of blood, the woman in the jade skirt, the maiden, and the filth-eater with gentle words towards the triage.
Dobrozhe once more calls to his sister’s shadow wolves, urging them toward the newcomers.

Reunited

-Welcome back.- The shadow wolf greets them, infolding Ken and the StarBringer into the Gathering Pack.

Sanura grasps Kens shoulder lightly for a moment “good rescue” she nods and then her gaze moves around them “Thank you, Update..”

-Shit’s FUBAR.- Razorback offers helpfully.

-Nothing very exciting. Extra help, extra monsters.- Morevuka gives her the layout of the battle feild and the location of the monters and the hordes of gods surrounding them. -Lady Baker, she who used to be Johanna, is protecting Bakersfield.-

-Ja, ja, it is like a circle now. Like a hamster wheel of apocalyptic monsters.-

Dovile is gone for a moment, as another contraction comes. When she returns she sends a wolf to Sun Bearer (Formerly Known as Derrick), since Bast has cleared his mind.

This time the Drowned King begins to laugh, a snorting, snickering, half-suppressed feeling.

The Swan Maiden sends along the image of a giant monstrous hamster running through the aforementioned wheel, and then tripping up and tumbling, spinning in dizzy circles.

It is to this that Sun-Bearer enters the Gathering Pack. -Clearly I missed something.- He is dry, unamused.

Sanura snorts softly at the mental image and shakes her head. Smiling despite herself. -Unless Ken wants to be custondian of our very own pet demon wheel I think we need to form a plan-

Ken looks up at the huge, chaotic, glowing memory-path in the sky. -If we have to, I suppose. But I think it is kind of pretty…-

Sanura tsks softly.

-Oh, so you like modern art now?- Razorback is dry.

Ken makes a scoffing sound. -What, as though you didn’t already know I am insane?-

Razorback retorts: -Insanity and taste aren’t mutually exclusive.-

Before any other response could be offered, Sun-Bearer cuts through with his focused heat. -This… wheel serves for now, while we deal with the more immediate threat.- He sends along the impression of the giant behemoths born of chaos, being harried at by various gods.

Morevuka
Morevuka pauses again.
Waits.
The pain passes again.
The wolf standing between Galen and Jeff speaks. “I’m going to swallow you now. To take you to Susan. This will be short, ja? Don’t be afraid.” And the wolf streaches, as if the sun was dropping out of the sky. In a moment, the rooftop is covered in shadow.
And they are in a place of shadow, warm and moist.
The shadow recedes, leaving them standing in triage.

ST
Outside…
The Mother of the Lost reaches out on the paths. It isn’t hard—she knows well the shapes of her children on the tapestry of Fate. She listens for the subtle metallic whisper of scissors, pinpointing which threads they are closest to.
There…
The beast striking at Ruben with its circular mouth full of teeth suddenly draws back, startled, and slinks away from the boy to find prey. Hector bounds off after it; and Ruben straightens, staring after the creature to figure out what the hell was going on.
Meanwhile, at triage…
The shadow deepens beneath the protective canvas of interwoven branches. Resolve closes her stone fist, but then eases it as Jeff and Galen appear, tears still streaking down their faces from unseeing eyes. Quickly, Resolve moves to steady them with her touch. Angel’s ear twitches at the disharmony, so small and so simple. With a single, low hum, the disharmony eases, rising from flat and dropping from sharp to meet her. And then the two of them blink their vision back into place.
Jeff sits, the strength stolen from his knees at the sight of Angel and Resolve. Even Galen is at a bit of a loss, his mouth hanging slightly open.

ST
And then…
A sound which is at once the groaning of a twisted cloth, the soft, quick, subtle slicing of a thread, the final flourish of an etching pen carries along the roots of the tree, tugging sharply at something deep within all those gathered below.
And then the bold son, Midir, collapses to his knees, black veining from a gaping wound in his neck.
The rooted one, the Dagda, roars and presses into the attack, ripping an ancient-looking tree fresh-grown from his rage and slamming it savagely upon the behemoth, over and over again before it can have a spare moment to retaliate.
Shining blood seeps into the earth beneath Midir alongside the last of his strength.
But his clothes are unstained.
Solemn silence falls over the Gathering Pack as the echoes of a god’s death linger.
Something twists in the Swan Maiden’s heart, something familiar and bitter-tasting. La Dama offers up a feeling like a hug.
And then, gentle but firm, Sun-Bearer breaks the silence. -Let us end this, as quickly as we can.-

Star-Bringer
Sanura smirks a little and a feeling of a salute snaps through the connection. She takes off at a swift walking pace that quickly becomes a loping run, her form shifting in the sheild of a series of glittering lights running down her frame. She emerges much like the star caracal, dark colors white ‘star’ spots and of course the ear tufts. She doubles her pace and moves to join the hunting party, offering what small aide she can perhaps only as distraction to the prey the others will attack.

Morevuka
Morevuka haults again. Shuddering breath, another contraction. The dead still need to be expelled.
And then release, white-hot emptiness where pain had been.

To Dobrhozhe: -Okay, I’m done. Give me more of that.- Pain, lifted up and away.
Another breath.
To Yesen: -The moon sent a hug. I put it under the muffins to keep it warm.-

ST
The lioness’s nose twitches and her ear flicks at the coming of the caracal, her mouth and teeth stained with multicolored ichor. She draws away, circling far around to intercept the caracal. Her eyes scan over the lesser cat, nostrils flared, then she looks up to the great beast before them. Her body language tightens, her tail stilling. With a few subtle movements, she invites Star-Bringer to another flanking attack.
Finally, those whose doom is etched in the trunk of the world tree arrive in a bolt of lightning and crash of thunder.
The hammer-wielder and his children sprint forth. Above, the borrowed shape of a crow slides in time through the air.
The horn-holder stands upon the ground, far-seeing gaze scanning over the battlefield; and the others—the silent one, the snow-glider, the messenger, the skald, the one-handed warrior, the keeper of justice—follow the spearhead, the grim joy of battle pounding within each of them to a man.
The great razored boar charges, holding aloft the mountain’s peak and the bearer of the valiant dead on her back.
Her work done, Yesen appears gradually to the treehouse like a beam of moonlight through the drawing back of a sheer curtain. Her toes light on the woven floor of the tern’s roost and then she sinks to her knees and then to her side, curling her knees to her chest. With a trembling thought she reaches for the hug and pulls it over her like a blanket (pushing away the nausea that pain churns at the thought of the muffins).

Star-Bringer
comes up short at the inspection and is still till she’s beckoned forth. With the invite she moves silently in concert with the other. Doing her best to keep up with warriors in her own not exactly fight worthy ways. She’s pretty good at getting out of the way!

Now, doused in death, now, looking upon the field of battle, Razorback focuses. -Hey, Petrov. I got an idea.- He flicks the half-formed image of a large earthen wall circling the rift, keeping the lesser monsters from scattering to allow for easy herding and slaughter. -Do me a favor and send it along so no one gets caught with their pants down.- For good measure he sends it to the Gathering Pack.

Morevuka sends acknowledgement.
And, along every shadow, the wolves lift back their heads and howl the news to those that ought to hear.

ST
The message passes along. The gods shift, moving around their quarry, their prey, their opponent, squaring their feet, digging their heels, bending their knees, taking flight.
A CRACK!: a fractured glacier if the glacier were the world, a breaking bone if the body lay beneath all the feet on the battlefield, a splitting rock if the rock consisted the entire ground.
And then the world shakes. Only the great behemoths remain unstaggered, new limbs sprouting to hold themselves steady.
And then stone erupts from the earth like a spine ripping free of flesh, growing impossibly fast. In the course of three beats of a quickened heart, the bones of the world encircle the warring of order and chaos, cupping them apart from the hidden city.

-Shit.- The awe of the mountain’s peak drifts down like a sheer, freefalling cloth. -I think I overdid it.-

Optimism pushes forth, around the solemnity of death and the hardness of grim determination. -That was. So. Cool.- Resolve offers awe and the growing heat of enthusiasm. -Hey! Let’s be seismo-buddies! I made a canyon, and you made a mountain range!-

-Kid.- Razorback sends along a shaking of his head and a weary suppression of cuted-at. -Yeah… Fine. Seismo-buddies.-

-YESSS!-

-Okay, okay.- Morevuka says. -Cut the cute. You will kill us all.-

Sanura does something that’s a .. well cats cannot giggle but the expression of mirth works it’s way through her limbs in a feline like fashion. -that’s the best- she then returns to focusing on not ending up dead. -How’s everyone, anybody got something they can’t handle?-

Morevuka is already looking, so she is able to report almost instantly to the StarBringer. -Everyone is adapting well. You can kill yours. I will let you know if somone needs help.-
Her gazes pass over the battle feild again, and the pain of child birth begins to fade as the last of the still-born choas beast are shoved from the womb of the earth.

-an impression of mirth- or i’ll just not get killed- she resumes the attempts to help.

A flash of deeply affectionate appreciation all but blasts over from the Swan Maiden like the heat of an opened oven. -That’s it. You. Me. Sofiesmosis. After… all this.-

ST
The battle continues; the behemoths eventually fill their shape, finding their strength but also finding their weakness. Little by little they fall, ichor streaming from wounds, limbs resting far from their bodies, innards strewn about the mountain ranges. The other, smaller beasts, scatter, slinking into crags or caves or burrows. The victories are hard-won: the battlers weary, and the healers grow fatigued. The scourring hunt that follows slowly peters out, and, finally, keeping a watch on the rift in the sky, the gods depart to recover.